The Love of a Good Man
by bluecurls
Summary: Sirius Black and Hermione Granger couldn't be more different, and yet something drew them together. He was determine to ignore it. She was just as determined to make him face it.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I do not own Harry Potter. These characters belong to J.K. Rowling and Scholastic, Inc., but sometimes they talk to me in my head and refuse to stop until I write down what they say.**

* * *

><p>Sirius Black wasn't born a physical person. Reared by a witch and wizard who had no business raising children, he grew up believing hands were meant to hurt. Because of this, he was a quick-tempered and mistrustful boy when he arrived at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He wasn't mean, per se, but there was a limit as to how much kindness he'd accept before pushing away. He was not used to affection, so though he was desperate for warmth, he was at the same time leery of it, worried that if he let his guard down, it would be used against him.<p>

It didn't help that the Sorting Hat roared "Gryffindor!" seconds after it was placed on his head. Blacks were always sorted into Slytherin; everyone knew that. It was that knowledge that made it difficult for Sirius to enjoy the weeks leading up to his arrival at Hogwarts. He assumed his name, his bloodline, would lead to the house filled with pureblood bigotry and hatred. The only thing worse in his young mind was being sorted into Hufflepuff.

The Great Hall was silent in the seconds following the Sorting Hat's proclamation. Even some of the professors looked at each other in amazement, but no one questioned the hat's decision. It had made some curious placements over the years and had to be proven wrong, but this?

No one heard Sirius' sigh of relief as the hat was removed from his head or saw how his hands trembled as he stood from the stool and sauntered arrogantly to the Gryffindor table, head high and shoulders back, his face carefully schooled to reflect indifference. He didn't acknowledge the hisses from the Slytherin table, nor did he respond to the cheers from his Gryffindor housemates, but took his seat with grace, his eyes trained on the remaining first years still waiting to be sorted. While he was aware that his insertion to Gryffindor went against decades of his family's ancestry, he didn't understand that it spontaneously endeared him to his housemates. Gryffindors loved anyone and anything that angered and mystified the Slytherins. Sirius Black's sorting was his inaugural prank at Hogwarts, even if he had nothing to do with it.

Sirius' first year at Hogwarts was a learning experience. A gifted wizard, he sailed through his classes with ease. It was navigating friendships that baffled him. His dorm mates were an odd assortment of boys – the confident James Potter, bookish Remus Lupin and quiet Peter Pettigrew. Had the four met under other conditions, they never would have been friends, but circumstances placed them together and James declared it fate.

"Fate?" Sirius snorted. "Don't tell me you believe that rubbish."

"Don't question it, mate," James grinned, nudging Sirius with his shoulder on his way to the bathroom, noting how Sirius stiffened at the contact. "We're stuck with each other."

Sirius threw himself on his bed with a grunt, his back to the others so they wouldn't see the smile on his face. Maybe James was right. He wanted to believe he was, anyway.

* * *

><p>"Something's wrong with him, Mum."<p>

Dorea Potter smiled at her son affectionately, her hand automatically going to his head to try and smooth down his unruly mop of dark hair. "I'm sure nothing is wrong with him."

James' pulled away from his mother. "See? That! That right there! Sirius would never tolerate that!"

"Tolerate what?" Dorea asked.

"Touching! He freaks out when someone touches him!"

Charlus Potter lowered the morning edition of _The Daily Prophet_ to study his son. James was a passionate boy, but he usually reserved his enthusiasm for Quidditch or the newest broom. Yet ever since he stepped off the Hogwarts Express for the spring holiday, it was "Sirius this" and "Sirius that."

"Do you think he's been …" Charlus struggled for the right words, not wanting to put ideas in his young son's mind. Unfortunately, James already came to the same conclusion, his dark eyes somber as looked at his parents.

"Orion and Walburga aren't the most affectionate people," Charlus murmured to his wife after James excused himself from breakfast, pushing his chair away from the table with a loud screech that made his parents smile rather than wince. The manor was too quiet without their boy.

"'Affectionate,'" Dorea snorted, pouring a second cup of tea.

Charlus smiled, knowing his wife was already thinking about how she could bring young Sirius Black to their home for the rest of the holiday. Because of this, he wasn't surprised to see a second boy sitting at the dinner table that night.

"Sirius Black, I assume?" Charlus asked the dark-haired wizard, his brown eyes warm as he shook the boy's hand, noting the firm grip. Sirius was dressed in pristine robes with the poise and mannerisms that suited his upbringing. He was polite during dinner, responding appropriately to any question posed to him, but it was clear to Dorea and Charlus that the way in which he held himself wasn't due to purebred manners, but apprehension.

"It's like he's waiting to be struck!" Dorea hissed to her husband as they got ready for bed that night. "How can anyone treat a child that way?"

"The world isn't fair, love."

Dorea fumed. She was aware of the injustice in their world. She may spoil James – he was her only child, after all – but she made sure he understood that the privileges he was born with didn't mean he was better than anyone else. She wanted her boy to enjoy his youth. She wanted him to have fun and get into trouble – not a lot of trouble, but just enough to ensure he was having a good time – but she also wanted him to use the gifts he was born with to make a difference. She knew her son well enough to understand that James' unwavering loyalty meant Sirius Black had a new family.

"He's ours now," she whispered to her husband.

Charlus smiled and pulled his wife close so her head rested on his chest. "I never doubted it."

The next five days were the greatest in Sirius' life. James' parents treated him like an equal; not like an adult, but exactly how they treated James. They laughed at his stories, badgered him to finish his vegetables, told him to go to bed when he was too rambunctious at night, and hugged him. A lot. Dorea Potter was an excellent hugger, greeting each boy with a cuddle before breakfast every morning. She never said anything when Sirius held himself rigid in her arms, ruffling the top of the boy's head affectionately instead. Charlus was more a squeezer, throwing an arm around the boys in a quick move that left Sirius feeling warm for the rest of the day.

"Do your parents ever get mad?" Sirius asked James during a game of Exploding Snap.

James shrugged. "Oh, you know, the usual. 'James, makes your bed.' 'James, brush your hair.' 'James, if I get one more owl from Professor McGonagall telling me that you proposed to Lily Evans, I will personally give the girl permission to hex you.'"

"Do they yell?"

"Dad yells at Quidditch games. Mum yells when she reads _The Daily Prophet_."

"Would they ever yell at you?"

James leaned back in his chair, thinking hard. Sirius was looking down at his cards, trying to appear casual as he awaited his friend's response.

"If I cocked things up enough, sure, but that's what parents do, yeah?"

Sirius shrugged. "I guess."

He didn't get it. At his house, yelling was the most common form of communication. His father yelled at his mother. His mother screamed at him. They both shouted at the house elves. He hated it, but not as much as he despised the tense silences. Yelling gave him time to escape. It was a warning to hide himself and Regulus in their rooms before their parents' temper turned physical. Silences, though … anything could happen when his parents were quiet for too long, but you never know what and you never knew when.

Sirius detested his family's home. He spent as much time outside of it as he could. When avoidance wasn't an option, he stayed in his room. As far as bedrooms went, it wasn't bad. Oversized and located as far from his parents' rooms as possible, it suited his needs just fine. If there were times it felt like the walls were closing in on him, he would never admit it out loud, worried others would find him crazy. Plenty of his family members had succumbed to the darkness in their minds. He did not want his life to end up the same.

"Sirius!"

Sirius jumped, startled by James' voice. His arm swung out, knocking the crystal glass of pumpkin juice to his right on the floor. Sirius watched in dismay as it shattered on the ground, shards of glass splintered on the floor as the orange-colored liquid seeped into the Potters' carpet. He automatically bent down to hide the evidence when Dorea rushed into the room.

"Is everyone all right?" she cried.

"Fine, Mum," James told her, pushing back his chair so Flip, their house elf, could clean the mess. "Sorry, Flip."

The elf squeaked in response, gently nudging Sirius aside as she cleaned the mess, popping out of the room as quickly as she arrived.

"Sirius?" Dorea kneeled next to the boy's chair, her hand going up to push his dark locks off of his forehead. He jumped back in response, eyes wide as he stared at James' mother.

"Sweetheart, I'm not going to hurt you," she murmured, her heart breaking for the young boy. "I want to make sure you're not hurt."

Not giving Sirius a chance to run, she took his hands in hers, turning them over to ensure they were free from glass. Satisfied he was fine, she squeezed his hands gently before rising gracefully to her feet, running one hand down Sirius' hair in an automatic gesture of comfort.

"So, more pumpkin juice?" she asked briskly, brushing aside the moment of tension as if she were flicking a fly from her shoulder.

James shook his head, getting up from his seat, motioning for Sirius to do the same. "I think we'll head out for a bit. I'm going to grab something in my room, Sirius. I'll meet you out back in a minute!"

Sirius watched his friend run out of the room, his heart sinking as his eyes met Dorea's. He expected to see anger now that her son was gone, but instead she smiled; a real smile that made her whole face light up and her eyes twinkle.

"Mrs. Potter," he started, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry about the glass. I jumped and my arm hit it, and it was a mistake. I can pay you back! I have money! You don't need to owl my parents. If you tell me how much it was, I'll get you the galleons, I promise!"

She held up her hand, again not saying anything when he automatically took a step back. "Glasses break, sweetheart, especially in a house with two 12-year-old boys. If I didn't want them to be damaged, I wouldn't use them."

Folding her hands in front of her, Dorea took a small step toward Sirius, pleased when he didn't retreat. "Sirius, I don't know what your life in like at your house, but here we don't hit. If someone makes a mistake, we correct it and hope it doesn't happen again. When we get mad, we yell, but we _never_ resort to physical violence. I'm not saying we're perfect, mind you, but we love each other and we love you. You have nothing to fear when you are with us."

Sirius couldn't believe what she was saying. "But you hardly know me."

"Sweetheart, I fell in love with James the second he was born. If I can love him after more than 24 hours of labor, I can love you."

Drawing Sirius into her arms, she hugged him, not letting go until he hesitatingly lifted his arms to encircle her waist.

"You are a good boy, Sirius Black," she whispered fiercely, her eyes filling with tears when she felt his arms tighten around her. "Don't ever let anyone tell you different."

* * *

><p>"Moony!"<p>

Remus Lupin braced himself for the bone-crushing hug, choking out hello as Sirius wrapped his arms around the lean werewolf. The slobbery kiss on his cheek was unexpected, though, and he quickly pushed his friend away, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand, glaring at the laughing wizard.

"I saw you last weekend, Pads."

"But that was before we were officially seventh years," James pointed out before pulling Remus in for a quick hug, followed by two heavy thumps on his back.

"Take notes, Padfoot. This is how you greet a friend."

But Remus might as well been talking to air because Sirius spotted the blond hair of Peter Pettigrew in the crowd and was rushing toward the chubby wizard, yelling "Wormtail!" at the top of his lungs.

"Remember when he was mellow?" Remus asked, wincing as Sirius knocked Peter over.

James snorted. "He was never mellow, Moony. Wound tighter than Evans' knickers at the last Yule Ball, perhaps, but definitely not mellow."

Remus sighed dramatically as he checked his watch, lips twitching as James looked over.

"What?!"

"Ninety seconds," he said, taking a galleon out of his pocket.

"Already?!" Sirius cried, his arm slung around Peter's shoulders as he rejoined his friends. "Dammit, James; you can't even go five minutes without bringing up Evans' name!"

Peter gave James a small grin as he held out his hand to collect the money from his friends. "Come on Marauders," he announced, leading the way to the Hogwarts Express. "The food is on me."

"Um, when did he become the leader?" Sirius asked.

James looked over at his best friend, remembering the boy who used to stiffen whenever someone touched him. It was hard to associate that angry, scared child with the outgoing wizard striding alongside him, winking at every witch they passed, stopping in front of a few to say hello with a deep bow.

In the years since Sirius ran away from home and became a Potter in every way but his name, he not only learned how to accept the affections offered to him, but enthusiastically gave his own in return. The Marauders learned to expect morning wakeup calls with Sirius jumping on their beds. James was used to his friend declaring his love for him after every Gryffindor Quidditch victory, just as Remus learned to accept Sirius' feet in his lap whenever they were hanging out in the common room. Peter had his hair ruffled by Sirius so much, he was startled to see what it looked like undisturbed. Walking through the halls at Hogwarts, Sirius always had an arm around one of his boys. That is, unless he had both around a pretty girl. A natural flirt, he told the Marauders he had years to make up for.

There were moments when his cheery façade would crack just a bit. They happened when he caught sight of Regulus at the Slytherin table. He knew his brother made his own choice in life, just like he did, but he would always feel responsible for Regulus' descent in the Dark Arts.

"The world is a crazy place, Padfoot," James replied, ducking into the compartment the Marauders claimed for themselves third year.

Sirius flopped on the bench resting his feet on Remus' lap, ignoring his friend's exasperated sigh when his book fell to the floor. "You can say that again, Prongs."

* * *

><p>"Harry!"<p>

Sirius pushed past Remus and Molly Weasley, his eyes on the boy who looked so much like James, it nearly broke his heart. Pulling Harry into his arms, he kept his hold loose, knowing Harry didn't grow up in a loving household. The first few times he saw his Godson, the boy's inability to return his affections hurt his heart.

"Give him time, Padfoot," Remus had advised. "He just met you."

Sirius shook his head. He knew Remus was right. Harry was only a baby when Sirius was sent to Azkaban. He didn't remember the man who would sneak into his nursery at night to rock him to sleep. He had no recollection of how he would screech with laughter when Sirius would toss him in the air. (He was mindful to do this only when Lily was away, of course.) He never knew that Sirius was the third person to hold baby Harry, their eyes locked on each other as he solemnly vowed to protect the newborn with everything he had. Knowing this, though, didn't make Harry's reservation any easier.

James' and Lily's deaths nearly killed Sirius. While the rest of the Wizarding World celebrated Lord Voldemort's demise, Sirius sought revenge against the traitorous friend who practically handed the Potters to the Dark Lord on a silver platter. Unable to think beyond that moment, wanting only to make Peter pay, Sirius fell into a trap that stole nearly 13 years of his life. Instead of doing what he promised James – to take care of Harry – he was locked in a cell at Azkaban, the memories of every mistake he ever made his only comfort. For years, the guilt ate at him, so much so that Azkaban seemed like a fitting place for a man who couldn't honor his dead friend's wish. Eventually guilt dissolved into anger and then self-pity. Had he not seen the picture of Peter in his rat form in _The Daily Prophet_, that image igniting a fire in Sirius that had been nearly snuffed out completely, Sirius knew he'd still be in his cell, and that scared him to death.

Remus wanted to know how he survived. What Sirius didn't want to admit was there were times he wasn't sure he did. He knew he wasn't the same wizard they locked away; what did that make him now?

"You're Harry's Godfather," Remus told him. "That has never changed and it never will. You've been given a great gift; a second chance. Don't blow it."

He was determined not to. Unfortunately, the members of the Order of the Phoenix were just as determined to keep Harry on the path that could lead the boy to his death. Sirius battled with Albus Dumbledore over his decision to keep Harry in the dark about the prophecy. He tolerated Snape's presence in his home for the so-called greater good, keeping his insults to himself as the greasy git swept through the house as if he owned it. He fought Molly Weasley's determination to treat Harry as a child. He stopped being a child the first time he faced Voldemort. Why didn't anyone see that?

She did. He watched the young witch carefully, noting how often Harry held one of her hands while Ron Weasley grasped the other. He remembered how she pushed Harry behind her in the Shrieking Shack, her hazel eyes flashing in anger as she yelled at Remus for not being the man she thought he was. Nothing got by Hermione Granger. He jokingly called her the brightest witch of her age when she was only 14, but truer words had never been spoken.

Dorea would call Hermione an "old soul." She didn't act like a child. Even before she became a soldier in war, she had a maturity about her that rivaled the adults she considered her mentors. Sirius was both amazed and leery of her. He'd catch her watching him, her expression thoughtful as she returned his gaze, never blushing or looking away. There were times he believed she could see inside him, to the place where his memories of Azkaban haunted his dreams. For that reason, he went out of his way to avoid her, readily giving and accepting affection from Harry and Ron, but holding himself away from Hermione. He saw the hurt look on her face, the questioning look on Remus' as he evaded any form of contact with the young witch who had saved his life twice – first from the Dementors and again at the Ministry of Magic - but couldn't find the words to explain his actions. He was on the edge of sanity. He knew it. He was sure she knew it, too. He needed it kept quiet. Harry had too much on his mind already to be concerned about his Godfather's well-being.

Still, despite his determination to dodge Hermione, Sirius instinctively sought her out when the loneliness of his life got too great. To her credit, she never belittled him when he'd walk into the Black library late at night, dark circles under his eyes and a bottle of Ogden's finest dangling from his fingers. Instead, she'd give him a gentle smile and scoot over on the worn leather sofa, lifting the blanket that covered her legs in silent welcome. The first time she did so, he snuggled next to her instinctively, his large body dwarfing her petite frame. She was only 16 and he was 36, but in that moment, they were equals. She went back to reading as he leaned against her, one of her hands slowly running through his dark hair as he stared at nothing in the flames of the fireplace, waking up alone in his bed the next morning without any recollection of how he got there, feeling as if he'd slept for a week.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Padfoot," Remus warned as Sirius watched Hermione move across the dance floor in Viktor Krum's arms, the vision she made in her red dress rivalling that of Fleur in her wedding gown.

"Excuse me?"

"I see the way you look at her," Remus continued. "Harry does, too."

Sirius lifted his glass of firewhiskey to his lips, finishing his drink in one swallow. "I don't look at her any different than I do Ginny."

Remus snorted. "You're forgetting I lived with you for seven years. I know the looks you give when you want a woman."

Sirius glared at his friend. "I do not want her," he hissed. "She's too young for me. She will have the whole world open to her someday and does not need some washed-up ex-convict dragging her down."

Remus cocked his head as he studied his friend. "Have you convinced yourself you mean that yet?"

* * *

><p>It was over. Sirius slumped to the ground, his wand dangling from his fingertips as cheers broke out around Hogwarts.<p>

_"__Voldemort was dead!"_

_"__He did it! The-Boy-Who-Lived saved us all!"_

The remaining Death Eaters scrambled from the school, Ministry Aurors hot on their trail. Sirius watched the activity as if in a dream, unable to comprehend the greatness of the situation.

It was over, really and truly over. Harry was alive. Voldemort was dead. He watched as Remus ran over, his lips moving as he pulled Sirius to his feet, but Sirius didn't hear a word as his friend gestured excitedly. Harry appeared next, throwing his arms around Sirius exuberantly, tears coursing down blood-spattered face. He let the two drag him into the Great Hall, his eyes taking in the bodies of fallen friends and students impassively. He saw the Weasley family gathered in a large red-haired clump, Arthur and Molly laughing as they tried to hug all seven children at once. Minerva McGonagall had her arm around Neville Longbottom, who looked as dazed as Sirius felt. Remus let go of Sirius to run to Nymphadora Tonks, swinging his new wife in circles, her shocking pink hair a blur as they spun around.

"Sirius? Sirius, are you all right?"

He looked into a pair of hazel eyes, the tension he carried in his shoulders drifting away as he took in the image of the girl in front of him. Her clothes were dirty and torn, the right sleeve covered with what looked like blood that may or may not be hers. Her face was pale, nearly gaunt; the result of several months on the run as she helped Harry search for pieces of Voldemort's soul. Her knuckles were bruised, her hair was matted and she had dark circles under her eyes, but in that moment she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

"You're alive," he whispered hoarsely, his hand trembling as he brought it to her face, one finger catching the lone tear that fell from her eyes.

"You're alive," she replied softly, catching his hand in hers and leaning her cheek into it.

They stood there, unaware of the activity around them as they focused only on each other. Hermione moved closer, needing to feel his body against hers, wanting the reassurance that he really was there; that death hadn't sought him out again. He saw her move and, for once, didn't take a step back in response. He'd almost lost her. So many times he'd almost lost her.

"Hermione!"

She jumped as her boys swept her in their arms, Ron talking a mile a minute as he pulled her to his tall frame, Harry saying nothing as he rested his head on her shoulders. They were a unit, closer than friends, more affectionate than most lovers. He saw the crowd of people closing in on the trio; surviving Order members who wanted to celebrate their victory, grateful witches and wizards who wanted to show their appreciation, fellow students who needed reassurance that Voldemort truly was gone.

Sirius backed away from the crowd, but he didn't leave. Not then. He waited until he caught Hermione's eye. Giving her a small smile, he winked before turning on his heel and walking away.

* * *

><p>"What are they going to do now?"<p>

Remus took a sip of his tea, pushing aside the pile of parchments from the Ministry with a groan as he studied his friend. He looked better than he had in years. Rested. Well-fed. His skin was no longer gray in color, but a light tan. He had no idea where Sirius had been for the past three months, but wherever it was, it was obvious it was good for him.

"Harry and Ron plan on training as aurors," Remus replied. "They leave for the academy next month. Kingsley is the interim Minister for Magic; Arthur Weasley is his deputy. Minerva is Hogwarts' new headmistress. Snape is still recovering at St. Mungo's. The twins reopened their store and -"

"Hermione! What about Hermione?"

Remus shrugged. "I don't know, Padfoot. Kingsley made the same offer to her as the boys, but she said she's tired of fighting. Some of the others are going back to Hogwarts to re-do their seventh year and take their N.E.W.T.s, but she told me she feels too old for school now."

"She's only 18."

"Almost 19," Remus corrected. "She's looking into some kind of correspondence setup, where she can revise for her N.E.W.T.s independently, and still take the exam with her classmates in the spring."

"Her parents?"

Remus shook his head.

"Fuck," Sirius growled.

"Arthur and Molly told her she always has a home with them, but she wants more peace and quiet than she'd get at the Burrow."

"Can she afford her own place?"

"She'll have some financial support from the Ministry because of her Order of Merlin, but I have the feeling she'd rather save that for her future than some flat in Diagon Alley."

Sirius' eyes narrowed. "What aren't you telling me, Moony?"

He swallowed. "Harry told her she could live here."

Sirius let out a breath.

"We didn't know where you were, mate. One minute you were here, the next morning you were gone. All we had was a note telling us you needed to get some things figured out."

"I owled!"

"Twice. You were gone for three months and you owled twice."

Sirius ran his hand over his jaw, the stubble on his chin reminding him that he needed a shower and a shave.

"Look, Pads, I get that you had some shit to wrap your head around. Believe it or not, Harry did, too."

"Was he mad?"

Remus shook his head. "A little hurt at first, but Hermione helped him get over it."

Sirius stared at his friend. "She did? Are they together now?"

Remus chuckled at the idea of Harry and Hermione as a couple. Those two were siblings born to different parents. If he hadn't been at St. Mungo's the day Lily have birth, he'd assume Hermione was Harry's long-lost twin.

"No, Pads, they're not a couple."

"Her and Ron?"

Remus shook his head.

"Fred? George?"

"No, no and before you start naming every wizard we know, the answer is no."

Sirius wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, the familiar light of mischief sparkling in his gray eyes. "What about witches?"

Remus nudged him in the arm, trying his best not to picture Hermione in bed with another woman. He glanced at his watch. When would Dora be home?

"Are you going to tell me what happened with Hermione?"

Sirius leaned back in his chair. "Nothing happened."

"The last time I saw you, she was in your bed."

"Sleeping, Moony. We were only sleeping."

Grimmauld Place was quiet the night the war ended. Sirius arrived home to an empty house. He walked to his bedroom, peeling off his battle-torn clothes and throwing them in the fireplace, muttering "Incendio" before continuing to his bathroom for a long, hot shower. With one towel wrapped around his waist, he walked to his wardrobe for clean clothes, dropping the towel he was using to dry his hair to point his wand at the person sitting in the middle of his bed.

"Nice instincts," Hermione grinned.

He let out his breath. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm not really in a celebratory mood," she replied. "I know today is wonderful, but right now all I can think about is everyone we lost. George told me I was bringing everyone down, so here I am."

"Why do you think I'd be better company?"

"I didn't say you would be, Sirius. All I know is I don't want to be alone tonight and if anyone understands how that feels, it's you."

He let her stay. It went against every instinct he had, but he handed her a soft T-shirt and fresh towel, and waited in his bed with his arms stacked behind his head as she commandeered his bathroom, his jaw clenched as he tried not to imagine what she looked like with water running down her naked body.

"Sirius?"

He looked over, his eyes taking in the small witch wearing his old Rolling Stones T-shirt. It barely covered her legs and because she neglected to dry her hair, the wet curls were seeping through the soft cotton, plastering the fabric to her skin.

"Come to bed, little one," he murmured, lifting the covers in invitation as she'd done for him so many times before.

She did as he said, smiling as he pulled her close so her head rested on his chest, her breath warm on his skin.

"I'm glad you're OK," she whispered,

"I'm glad you're OK, too."

She snuggled closer, one arm going around his waist as one of her legs settled between his thighs. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

He could feel her smile. "That's not what I mean," she responded. "I really love you."

"Hermione –"

"Not tonight," she told him. "Let me have right now and we can talk more in the morning. Please?"

He sighed wearily, his body begging for rest. Hermione took his lack of a response as consent and allowed her body to relax into his.

"You are a good man, Sirius Black," she whispered, pressing her lips to his naked chest. "Don't ever let anyone tell you different."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you for your response to the first chapter. I'm happy you are excited to read this story. If you're curious, ****_The King and I _****is on hiatus, but I will finish it. I lost the thread of the story and, honestly, am not happy with it. I've tried several times to revise what I've had, but struggled because I could not get the idea of this story out of my head. Several scenes have written themselves, a few I may possibly love more than the broom closet scene from ****_Get Busy Living._**

**A quick word about reviews and/or comments. I love them! They are like crack and help keep the writing flow going. They can also lead to fun exchanges like the one I had with shealone, the brilliant writer of ****_The Debt of Time_****. (If you have not read this amazing time-travel piece, you must rectify that immediately. Go. Right now. Seriously. This chapter will still be here when you return.) Please don't hesitate to leave a word of two with your thoughts on this story, or pose a question. I'll answer what I can without giving too much away, though I suck at secrets, so I'll probably tell you more than I should.**

**Enough babbling! We have a broken Sirius, a Hermione who loves him and a reunion to witness! This chapter is different than the first. It jumps into our story showing where Hermione's life is at this time. I hope you like it!**

**Legalities: I do not own Harry Potter. These characters belong to J.K. Rowling and Scholastic, Inc.**

* * *

><p>Hermione Granger looked over her notes, a smile of satisfaction on her face. Her sit-down with Professor McGonagall had gone better than she expected. Her mentor agreed with Hermione that the idea of returning to Hogwarts for her seventh year of school was preposterous given all that she had experienced and accomplished the year before, but understood Hermione's wish to still take her N.E.W.T.s.<p>

"You're mental," Ron had told her. "We were given a gift – approval from the Minister for Magic to forget our exams and go straight to the career we want!"

"That's just it, Ronald; I don't know what career I want."

"And taking a bunch of tests that have been known to kill people will help you decide?"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be overdramatic. No one has died taking their N.E.W.T.s."

"No one has called them a rip-roaring good time, either."

Hermione wasn't worried. Seventh years took their exams in May. She had more than nine months to revise, though she agreed with Professor McGonagall that using all of her free time for preparation was excessive, even for her.

"Honestly, Miss Granger, I don't think you need to test in every subject you qualified for, which I'm sure you know was all of them except Muggle Studies and Divination."

Hermione tried her best to look modest. Judging by the smirk on her professor's face, she failed miserably.

"I'm afraid I don't understand, professor," she replied. "You just said you understand my desire to take my exams. Now you tell me I don't need to. Have you been talking to Kingsley?"

Professor McGonagall laughed. "He's still sore that you won't join Potter and Weasley at the academy, isn't he?"

"Apparently he isn't used to hearing 'No' from people."

"Which is why he'll be a great minister, but to answer your question, no, I'm not working with the Ministry. When I said you didn't need to test in each subject, I simply meant that your actions this past year show you already have the skills to pass the written and practical portion of some subjects; defence, charms, and potions, specifically, though your little stunt with the dragon at Gringotts might excuse you from Care of Magical Creatures, too. I'll need to check that."

Hermione watched as her professor scribbled something on the parchment in front of her. "Are you sure that's allowed? I don't want special treatment."

Professor McGonagall folded her hands, her usual stern expression softening. "Miss Granger, you are a war heroine. You will receive special treatment whether you want it or not. As for your exams, it's never been done before, but when you consider that the practical exam for Defence Against the Dark Arts two years ago consisted mainly of defensive spells, I'm sure you'll agree you've exceeded anything the examiners will throw at you."

Hermione considered the spells she used while on the run with Harry and Ron; incantations she didn't have time to think twice about. Hesitation meant capture or death. She learned to trust her instincts, relying on feelings and reflexes instead of logic. When she shared memories of her adventures with Remus, her former professor had told her he had nothing else to teach her.

"Our magic is part of us, Hermione," he explained. "It's who we are. Textbooks and essays will up us understand it, but until the knowing is embraced fully, the true essence of a witch or wizard's power remains untapped. I'm thankful you realized this."

"I'm not sure I understand, Remus."

He stood up, his hands clasped behind his back as he paced around the room, looking very much like he did during his class lectures. Hermione was oddly soothed by the familiarity as she waited for him to speak.

"You have a brilliant mind, Hermione," he began. "Your intelligence is off the charts and your desire to learn exceeds anyone I've ever known, myself included. However, intellect doesn't always equate success."

Hermione snorted, thinking of Percy Weasley.

"Exactly," Remus smirked. "I'm sure many of the methods you used on the run can be attributed to hours of research, but at the moments when you needed the full force of your magic, instinct took over. It was my hope you'd learn to trust what you couldn't prove with logic."

Hermione considered Remus' words, knowing he spoke the truth, but also uncomfortable with the concept of blind faith. She was not someone who rushed into the unknown often. It was easy to do during the war, but the battle is over. Clearly now was the time to consider her options, carefully weigh the pros and cons of each scenario before making a decision, right?

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione smiled weakly at Professor McGonagall. "I apologize, Professor. I trust your judgment. Please do what you think it best."

"Excellent. I will owl the Wizarding Examinations Authority with my recommendation tomorrow. We should know their response within the week. Until then, I suggest you relax and enjoy time with your friends before the new term begins. I understand Potter and Weasley leave for the training academy soon?"

Hermione nodded. She would miss her boys, as well as her friends who planned to return to Hogwarts to finish their last year of education. She and Ginny had grown closer the past few months and she'd come to rely on the fiery redhead's penchant for entertainment.

"I hope you won't lock yourself in a library, Miss Granger," her professor continued, peering over the top of her glasses.

Hermione smiled. "Fred and George already offered to keep me company once everyone leaves. I believe they want my input on some new prototypes."

"Oh Merlin," Professor McGonagall sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. "Please, Miss Granger. I know you are technically no longer a Hogwarts prefect, but remember how much you loved this school. Promise me you won't help those boys create anything that will cause too much havoc."

The impish grin Hermione gave in lieu of a response did not make the Scottish witch feel any better. She made a mental note to double-check her retirement vault at Gringotts. She'd committed to remaining at Hogwarts until Severus Snape had fully recovered from his injuries and was well enough to resume his Headmaster duties, but that didn't mean she couldn't daydream about an extended vacation on a lovely island in the middle of nowhere, particularly one Fred and George Weasley had no knowledge of.

* * *

><p>"Hermione!"<p>

Hermione looked up, her face breaking out in a wide grin at the sight of Rubeus _Hagrid rushing towards her, his beloved dog Fang on his heels._

"Hello Hagrid," she greeted him, laughing when the half-giant wizard lifted her in a hug that was quite gentle despite his size.

"I'm glad I caught you," he huffed, his cheeks red from his dash across the grounds. Patting his coat, he pulled a poorly wrapped package from one of his pockets which he thrust in her hands. "This is fer Harry. Could you see he gets it?"

"Of course," she replied, tucking it into her satchel.

"I wanted to wish him good luck in person, but I can't get away right now."

"He'll understand, Hagrid. Hogwarts needs you."

He blushed, turning to study the majestic castle. From the right angle, you'd never know of the battle that took place there only months before.

"We've been working night and day to prepare fer the students," he said gruffly, his voice slightly hoarse as if he was struggling not to cry. "There's talk of a memorial. The Ministry is hiring some big shot consultant to lead that."

"Is that necessary?" Hermione asked. "Obviously we need a memorial at Hogwarts, but wouldn't a consultant's fees drain whatever budget the ministry set aside for the project? It's not like they have money to spare."

"I suspect they'll be collecting some tidy sums from Death Eaters who rather pay their dues in gold than spend time in Azkaban," Hagrid mused, tucking Hermione's arm in his and walking her to the apparition point just outside the school gates.

"Still," Hermione frowned, upset that families with money would be allowed to buy their freedom while innocent wizards like Sirius Black were sentenced to Azkaban without a trial. Ignoring the stab of pain the struck her heart whenever she thought of Sirius, she checked her watch, wondering if she had time to visit the Ministry before meeting Harry and Ron for dinner in Diagon Alley.

"You take care of yerself, yeah?"

Hermione squeezed Hagrid's hands. "Always."

Walking through the gates, she blew Hagrid a kiss before turning, disappearing with a soft pop.

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but the Minister is a busy man. I'm afraid you can't waltz in here without an appointment and expect to see him."<p>

Hermione glared at the blond witch, disliking her on the spot for purely superficial reasons. She was a classic beauty, with long blond hair that flowed down her back smooth as silk, cornflower blue eyes and pale skin that didn't have a hint of freckles. Hermione would bet her last galleon that she was tall, too.

"I assure you Miss …"

"Harris," the blond sneered.

"I assure you, Miss Harris, the Minister will want to see me. I'll give you two minutes to make him aware of my presence before I walk into his office and expose your incompetence."

Moving to one of the armchairs in front of Miss Harris' desk, Hermione sat gracefully, a pleasant expression on her face as she eyed the woman. For a moment, the two witches stared at each other; Hermione the picture of calm while Miss Harris' face slowly turned red.

It was not a good look on her.

Hermione made a show of checking her watch and re-crossed her legs. Pushing away from her desk with a huff, Miss Harris stomped to the oversized door behind her desk, her three-inch black heels adding to already impressive height. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Hermione!" Kingsley Shacklebolt swept out of his office, a wide smile on his face. Ignoring his receptionist, he walked toward the petite witch, helping her from her chair. "This is a pleasant surprise."

"You might not think so after I tell you what I've come to say," she cautioned.

He squeezed her hands in his, dark eyes flashing in amusement. "I expect nothing less."

Placing one hand on the small of her back, Kingsley ushered Hermione into his office, guiding her past the chairs in front of his massive oak desk in favor of the settee along the wall. Waiting until she was seated, he joined her.

"Hagrid told me the Ministry's plans to hire a consultant for the Hogwarts memorial."

"That's right," Kingsley nodded. "We want to honor those who gave their lives to the greater good."

"But a consultant? Do you know how much something like that costs? Are you sure now is the time to spend money on some uppity businessperson who values gold more than the sentiment of the project?"

Kingsley leaned back, careful to keep his face neutral. It was true he initially wanted Hermione as an auror. A witch with her intelligence and natural ability would be an asset for the Department of Law Enforcement. He was loathe to see her training go to a desk job, but if he couldn't have her as an auror, he'd rather she be employed at the Ministry in some other capacity than seek opportunities in the private sector.

"I'm afraid Ministry employees already have their hands full, Hermione. I've looked over the departments and we can't spare anyone to this project. I had to fight for the Wizengamot to even consider it."

"What about a committee? Are there society groups that take on projects like this?"

"The majority of Wizarding charity groups are controlled by pureblood witches. I don't think they'd be the best choice."

Hermione sighed. No, any memorial those groups oversaw would likely honor fallen Death Eaters.

"Don't worry yourself, Hermione. If we are unable to construct a memorial before the battle's first anniversary, we can always aim for the fifth or tenth remembrance."

"No!" she cried, leaning forward to grab his arm. "They need to be remembered now, before too much time passes and we forget about them."

Kingsley ducked his head so she wouldn't see the sly grin on his face. "What do you suggest?"

* * *

><p>Harry burst out laughing, nearly spitting butterbeer across the table as he fumbled for a napkin.<p>

"I can't believe you fell for that," he sputtered as Ron pounded him on the back, the trio oblivious to the looks they received from the other diners in the restaurant.

"I did not fall for anything, Harry," Hermione fumed.

"Sorry to break this to you, love, but Kingsley set the trap and and snared you hook, line and sinker."

Hermione sat back in her chair, crossing her arms in frustration as she considered Harry's words. It was true Kingsley seemed pleased when she suggested she form a committee to design and raise funds for the Hogwarts memorial, but she assumed it was because she could be trusted to do a good job. Her eyes narrowed as she remembers how he insisted on installing her with the Department of International Magical Cooperation, pointing out that some of those who perished in the final battle were residents of other countries. When she reluctantly agreed to that, he pulled out an employment contract.

"I'm not looking for a job, Kings," she protested.

"Hermione, you know as well as I do how corrupted things were at the Ministry. I'm trying to move us past that. How would it look if word got out that I placed Hermione Granger in a position without proper documentation?"

"Damn Ravenclaw," Hermione grumbled under her breath, ignoring Harry's chuckle.

"Only you could go to the Ministry to lecture someone and leave with a job," Ron laughed.

"It's only part-time, Ronald – barely part-time at that," Hermione stressed.

"Still, you have to hand it to Kingsley," Harry said with a grin. "He wanted the three of us at the Ministry and damn if he didn't get his wish."

"Hmmpf," Hermione snorted, finished her glass of elf-made wine, not wanting to acknowledge the nugget of truth in the boys' words. Suddenly she wished she hadn't apparated to the Ministry on a whim. Remus didn't know what he was talking about when he encouraged her to embrace her instincts. When it came to her personal life, impulses rarely had positive outcomes. She needed to learn how to control her temper. She needed to think before acting. If she had, she wouldn't find herself locked in a 10-month contract with the Ministry.

She pushed around her unfinished dinner on her plate, tuning out Harry and Ron's voices as they talked about the auror orientation they attended that afternoon. It was a whim that made her leave the Burrow the night Voldemort died and seek Sirius' company. She had kept her true feelings for the Anigmus buried for too long. As she watched her surviving friends hug, kiss and cry, she was filled with longing for Sirius Black. The urge was so great that she rushed to the floo before she lost her nerve, arriving at Number 12 Grimmauld Place seconds after Sirius stepped in the shower. She tiptoed to his room, wishing she was wearing something nicer than the worn jeans and Molly-made jumper she borrowed from Ginny as she settled in the middle of Sirius' bed.

It had been perfect. He walked in the room with nothing but a towel wrapped along his lean waist. She watched him walk to the wardrobe, her eyes devouring his body. When he spun around with his wand out in classic dueling stance, she felt almost felt faint at the sight of such power.

Hermione snorted at the memory. She was so foolish. What kind of woman told a man she loved him before they even kissed? She knew he had feelings for her. He might not know what those feelings were, but they were there and she told herself she could be patient as he figured them out. Why did she push it? Why did she insist on telling him how she felt? Was it any wonder she woke up to an empty bed the next day?

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?" she looked up, hazel eyes locking on the dark brown of Blaise Zabini.

"Ciao bella," the Italian wizard purred, lifting Hermione's limp hand from the armrest of her chair, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. "You are looking incredible this evening."

Hermione glanced down at her simple sleeveless rose-colored sundress with orange piping along the hem. She chose it because it was suitable for her meeting with Professor McGonagall and nice enough for dinner with her boys. Taking note of Blaise's appreciative onceover, she felt some of her melancholy mood lift as the wizard greeted her companions.

"Weasley. Potter."

"Zabini," Ron muttered.

Harry simply nodded, his brilliant green eyes narrowing as he studied their former classmate.

"Boys," Hermione said softly. "We all know Blaise and his mother were cleared from any wrongdoing by the Wizengamot. Let's not cause a scene."

"Brilliant as always," Blaise hummed. "I apologize for interrupting your dinner, but I thought I recognized you as I was being shown to my table and couldn't resist saying hello."

"I'm glad you did," Hermione smiled. "You look well."

He preened, fully aware that many of the females in the restaurant were watching him. Talk and dark-skinned, Blaise was beautiful, a fact nearly all of the female students at Hogwarts – and some males – agreed upon. Hermione didn't know him well, as he was a Slytherin and close friends with Draco Malfoy while they were in school, but she agreed with Kingsley when he said the only way their world would heal was if every witch and wizard would let go of past prejudices. Talking with a handsome wizard didn't seem like a bad way to start.

"Would you care to join us?" she invited, subtlety kicking Ron's leg under the table when he opened his mouth to protest.

Blaise smirked. "I wish I could, but I must return to my friend," she said, waving his hand towards a table. Hermione shifted in her seat, smiling slightly as she made note of the three wizards watching them.

"Please tell Draco, Marcus and Adrian we said hello," she told Blaise, ignoring Ron's snort of indignation.

"Of course," Blaise replied, smoothly lifting her hand for another kiss. "Perhaps we can catch up another time?"

"I'd like that."

* * *

><p>"I can't believe you," Ron growled as they left the restaurant. Hermione's arm tucked through Harry's.<p>

"What?"

"You were flirting with Zabini!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I was not."

"Were so. All that was missing was hair twirling and the fluttering of eyelashes," he grumbled as they walked to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. "The whole thing was just … ugh."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Harry nudged her side and shook his head. It was impossible to reason with Ron when he was like this. Rather than engage in a conversation that would likely end with the two of them shouting at each other, Hermione glanced around Diagon Alley, pleased with the number of witches and wizards strolling the cobblestone streets that evening. It was hard to believe that the crowded restaurants and busy stores were all but deserted a year ago as people fled from Voldemort's Death Eaters. Hermione smiled at two young boys who were staring at Harry with wide eyes, their mouths slightly agape. Harry gave a small wave, but kept walking, not comfortable with the attention and hero worship that followed him his entire life.

Ignoring the flashing orange closed sign on the entrance to Fred and George's shop, Ron pushed open the door, shouting for his brothers. Hermione let go of Harry so he could explore the shelves, moving toward the display of pygmy puffs, giggling as one nibbled on her fingers.

"If I knew that's what it took to get your attention, I'd have done it years ago," a voice whispered in her ear.

Hermione smiled, leaning back against the solid strength that was Fred Wesley as his arms wrapped around her waist. Immediately she felt her frustration with Ron lift as she snuggled closer to his brother. "How are you still single, Fred?"

He shook his head in amazement. Hermione had always been able to tell the difference between him and his brother, even before George lost his ear. They asked her how that was possible, but she'd never been able to explain it. She simply knew.

"I'm waiting for you; you know that," he laughed, kissing the top of her head before she wiggled out of his arms.

"Promises, promises," she teased, taking him by the hand, pulling him to the stairs that led to the twins' flat on the second floor.

"Are you here to ravish me, my love?" George asked as he finished warding the door to their lab, pulling Hermione from Fred so he could kiss her hello, his lips warm on her cheek.

"I'm here to use you," she replied, walking up the stairs.

"She's finally come to her senses, George!"

"Your floo, boys; I need to use your floo. I told Harry I've apparated enough for one day. Any more and I'll be bed-ridden with a migraine for the next 48 hours."

"Are you still getting those?" George asked, all joking aside as he looked down at the small witch.

She shrugged. "Off and on; more off than on."

"You should see a healer," Fred told her.

"Good luck with that," Harry snorted as he and Ron walked in the room. "I've been saying that for weeks, but she refuses to listen."

"It's not a big deal," Hermione protested, uncomfortable with the concerned looks she was getting from her friends. "My body is still recovering from Bellatrix's _Crucio_."

"That was three months ago," Harry said softly.

Hermione walked to the fireplace without answering. To her, it felt like it happened yesterday. She could still hear the sadistic witch's laugh as she shrieked the Unforgivable, feel the pain of her nerves exploding as the curse wracked her body. She lost count the number of times the curse was hurled in her direction. Bellatrix had perfected the skill of torturing a person to the edge of death, and then backing off just as the blissful end was in their grasp, letting them rest long enough to gather some sense of self before beginning again. Hermione had tried to hold in her screams as long as she could, determined not to break down in front of Bellatrix Lestrange and the Death Eaters who watched her torture with indifference, but there was only so much her body could take before she begged for mercy.

"Hermione?"

"It's late, Harry," she answered, not turning around as she grabbed a handful of floo powder. "I want to go home."

Stepping into the fireplace, she shouted "Grimmauld Place," disappearing in a flash of green, stumbling into the familiar kitchen seconds later, Harry close behind her.

"Hermione, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring it up, make it real again."

"But it is real, Harry," she told him, her voice getting higher as the headache that started at the base of her skull begin thumping harder. "It happened, all right? I know you want me to get over it and I understand. I want to get over it, too, but this isn't something you can make disappear with the snap of your fingers."

"Hermione."

She held up a hand. "Can we not do this now? Please? I'm tired. I want a pain potion, a glass of water and bed."

Harry sighed, but pushed Hermione towards the table to sit while he filled a glass with water and took a pain potion from their collection. Watching as she swallowed the light blue liquid and drained the water, he wished fleetingly for the words that would bring a smile to her face. At a loss, he held out his hand, grateful when she took it and led her out of the kitchen.

"Dinner was nice," he said conversationally as they walked down the narrow hall.

"It was," she agreed. "Who would have thought Seamus would be an artist in the kitchen?"

Harry laughed. "I confess I was waiting all night for some sort of explosion."

Hermione giggled. "Me, too. Remember that time in potions when he -"

"Harry?" Remus called. "Hermione? Is that you?"

"Yeah," Harry yelled.

"Could you please come to the study?"

Harry looked at Hermione, a questioning look on his face. She shrugged in response. The potion was kicking in, the throbbing in her head reduced to a dull pulse. She could put off sleep long enough to see what Remus wanted.

She wasn't surprised to see the werewolf sitting in an armchair, a book on his lap. Tonks was on the couch, turned toward someone Hermione couldn't see over Harry's shoulder.

"What's going on?" Harry asked, walking into the room.

Sirius stood up from the couch, his face wary as he looked at his Godson.

"You're back," Harry shouted, instinctively rushing to Sirius to give him a hug.

Sirius wrapped his arms around Harry, but his eyes were on the woman still standing in the doorway, her own eyes wide as she watched their reunion.

"Hello Hermione."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: My apologies for the emotional cliffhanger in Chapter 2. Sirius' return caught Hermione off guard and she needed time to recover. **

**Legalities: I do not own Harry Potter. These characters belong to J.K. Rowling and Scholastic, Inc.**

* * *

><p>Hermione shifted on the wooden bench, shivering slightly in the morning's cool air, pulling Harry's borrowed gray hooded sweatshirt tighter around her body as she waited for him to arrive. She knew he wouldn't be happy about her request to meet so early. He had never been a morning person, unable to speak coherent sentences before 11 a.m. She hoped the large coffee and cinnamon scone she picked up for him at the corner café would be a sufficient enough apology.<p>

"Why can't you ever have a crisis in the afternoon?" Ron grumbled in lieu of a greeting as he plopped on the park bench beside her, taking the coffee she handed him with a grunt. She waited until he guzzled nearly half before handing over the white paper bag.

"Thank you for meeting me."

"Like I had a choice," he retorted. "You charmed the blasted thing to keep burning until I replied."

Hermione turned away so he wouldn't see her smile. The "blasted thing" was the one of the galleons they used to communicate with Dumbledore's Army members during fifth year. They came in handy several times during their year on the run, so much so that Hermione, Ron and Harry had theirs made into medallions, each one wearing it on a chain around their neck. The chains were enchanted so that they could only be removed upon death, though Hermione fixed it so they could be disillusioned or transfigured at will. Just like before, the trio used the galleons to connect with each other when other means of communication weren't available.

"So," Ron leaned back, stretching his long legs, "he's back, huh?"

She nodded. "He's back."

"Harry must be thrilled."

She smiled at that. "He is."

"And you, judging by your message, are not." Ron took a bite of his scone, ignoring the crumbs that landed on his lap. "Honestly, I thought you'd be excited when Sirius returned. I know you missed him."

Hermione bit her lip. When she saw Sirius last night, her impulse, her _instinct_, was to throw herself at him. She wanted to jump into his arms, lock her legs around his waist, and never let go. So instead she went with Plan B. She ran to her room and warded herself in, putting up the strongest silencing charm she could. If anyone had come to her door last night, she had no way of knowing it.

"I'm going to tell you something and you cannot, I repeat _cannot_, freak out."

Still chewing, Ron waved his hand in a "Get on with it" gesture.

"I told Sirius I loved him."

He spit out his scone. "You what!?"

Hermione handed him a napkin, waiting until he cleaned up before speaking.

"I told him I loved him."

"What? When? How?" Ron shook his head, trying to grasp what Hermione told him. He had a million questions. He wanted to know everything and, and the same time, he didn't. He eyed Hermione who returned his gaze calmly. Merlin, why was she telling him this? Why him and not Harry? "Oh fuck me, Harry doesn't know, does he? That's why you only wanted to talk to me, isn't it?"

She nodded.

"Bloody hell, Hermione!" Ron jumped up from the bench. "What are you doing to me? You know I can't keep secrets from Harry!"

"Excuse me, but aren't you my best friend, too?"

He ran his hands through his hair. "Well, yeah …"

"And as my best friend, aren't you supposed to support me in my time of need?"

He returned to the bench with a sigh. "Yeah."

"And am I not the one who helped you with Luna?"

He sat down with a plop. "Yeah."

"All right, then," she said, crossing her legs, calmly placing her folded hands on her knee.

Ron hated the morning more now than he did when Hermione's message woke him up at 6 a.m.

"What happened?" he reluctantly asked, his head buried in his hands.

"He left."

"Huh?"

"I told him I loved him and the next day he was gone."

Ron drained the rest of his coffee, not even feeling the burn of the hot liquid as it slid down his throat. "Let me get this straight. You told Sirius Black, our best friend's _Godfather_, you love him and his response was to leave?"

"Correct."

Ron scrunched his nose as he did the math. "Hey, that means you told him the night Harry killed Voldemort!"

"Yes."

Ron laughed. "Then you're fine! Hermione, all of us were crazy that night! We'd just won a war that had been going on for most of our lives! Emotions were high. We were happy. We were sad. We were exhausted. I did this weird laughing-crying thing for 20 minutes; I couldn't stop!"

"Ron, I -"

"So you're thing was to floo home and tell Sirius you loved him. It's not your best decision, but you could have done worse. Did I tell you I saw George kiss McGonagall? It wasn't a full-on snog session, but he really laid one on her."

"Ron -"

"He'll understand, Hermione," he put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "He's going to tease you mercilessly about it, but you'll hex him a few times and all will be well. You'll see."

"I didn't say it because I was emotional, Ronald!" she shouted as she surged to her feet. "I said it because it's true! I love him!"

Ron glanced around the quiet park, smiling weakly at the Muggles who were staring at them, a few eyeing Hermione warily. "Um, you might want to tone it down a little," he said, pulling on her hand until she rejoined him on the bench.

"I'm an idiot."

"No one would ever accuse you of being that, Hermione."

"I've missed everything up."

Part of Ron agreed with that statement, but he wasn't stupid enough to say it. "Want to start at the beginning? Not to be rude, but I always kind of thought Sirius didn't like you."

Hermione scoffed at Ron's lack of tact, not that it wasn't true. The first time she spoke to Sirius – well, the first time after she and Harry helped him escape the Dementor's kiss – he was kind and appreciative of her efforts, but while he treated Harry like his son, he spoke to her like a distant relative you only saw at weddings and funerals. At first, Hermione assumed it was because his focus was Harry, creating a bond with the boy after so many years apart, but as time went on, Sirius managed to establish relationships with everyone in the Order but her. Ginny flirted with him. The twins idolized him. Tonks was thrilled to have the opportunity to get to know her cousin. Molly doted on him and Remus was so grateful to have his best friend in his life again. And yet he continued to ignore her, not going so far as to avoid saying hello when she would arrive at Grimmauld Place with Harry and Ron, but always having somewhere else to be if he found himself in the same room as her.

If anyone else had treated Hermione this way, she would have cut them from her life and moved on, but she was unable to do that with Sirius. She tried. Rather than force him to make excuses to leave a room, she avoided any in which she heard his voice, but then that night happened, that stupid, terrible, wonderful night where she was up late, reading, and he stumbled into the library, his eyes red from lack of sleep, clutching a bottle of firewhiskey like a life preserver. They stared at each other, two people who had little in common except for that moment. Hermione could see his pain, years of hurt bubbling just below the surface where he so desperately tried to keep it, and as he started at her, she felt he could see her desperation, her anxious need to prove herself in a world just as determined to keep her out.

Two lost souls. In that moment, they found each other. Hermione lifted the blanket, unaware she was even doing so until she felt the warmth of Sirius Black at her side. They didn't speak; not once. Instead, she resumed reading and he stared into space, lost in his own thoughts. She didn't know when she started running her fingers through his hair, but she could tell he liked it, so she didn't stop. When he fell asleep, she carefully maneuvered herself off the sofa and searched for Remus, telling him she accidentally stumbled across Sirius sleeping in the library.

"Let's walk," Hermione said, taking Ron's hand, leading him to the stone path that circled the park. She was quiet for a few moments, her lips pursed as she considered her next words. Ron waited patiently, knowing she'd speak when ready and not a moment before.

"We don't know him that well," she began. "Remus isn't one to tell a person's deepest secrets, but I think we can assume from his mother's portrait, he had a terrible childhood."

Ron shivered, remembering how Walburga Black's image would screech at him, calling him and his family blood-traitors, wishing horrible things upon them. It was a great day when Hermione and Harry had enough, the pair cursing the portrait simultaneously, causing it to crash to the ground.

"And when I think about what happened after Harry's parents died, how long he was in Azkaban, how he had to hide for so long until Kingsley was able to clear his name –"

"He had it rough, Hermione, I'll give you that," Ron interrupted, "but that doesn't mean you love him. How do you know you aren't confusing love with your innate need to take care of everyone?"

She clenched her teeth, swallowing the urge to yell at Ron. This was why she contacted him, after all. Harry and Remus were too close to Sirius to be objective and Ginny too romantic. The twins would make a joke about the situation. Ron, though; he would listen. He would let her talk as she tried to figure things out, jumping on any inconsistencies in her dialogue with his annoying habit of playing devil's advocate.

"I do want to take care of him," she admitted. "I want to see him be the man Remus remembers when he tells stories about their years at Hogwarts. I want to see the self-assured wizard Harry glimpsed in Professor Snape's memories. I want him to finally have joy in his life after so many years on nothing but pain. But," she continued, cutting off Ron who opened his mouth to object, "I also want to be with him, to feel his arms around me, his lips on mine. I haven't dated that much, but nothing I feel when I look at another man compares to what I feel when I look at Sirius and he's already looking at me."

"I do not need details," Ron groaned, the same disgusted look on his face he had after Hermione's conversation with Blaise Zabini the night before. "If you're going to yak about that, find a girlfriend. I don't do girl talk."

Hermione smirked, but didn't press her luck. "I know how he takes his tea in the morning; it's different than how he drinks it in the afternoon. I know he always wears socks, even when he's hot, because of his years in Azkaban. I know he lets Remus win at Wizard's Chess because he still feels guilty thinking Remus would ever betray him. Every time your mother hugs him, he closes his eyes and holds on a little longer. He always eats cookies as soon as they're out of the oven and swears when he burns his tongue. He has a closet full of Christmas presents for Harry, but only chooses a few to give him every year so he won't be overwhelmed. I know he reads French poetry and Muggle philosophy, and his motorcycle is his most-prized possession. He has a birth mark on his right wrist that, if you look closely, looks like a dragon's egg." She took a deep breath. "And I know he's scared. He's so terrified he's going to mess up his second chance at life that he's stuck, afraid to make a decision about anything."

"Including you?"

Hermione smiled sadly. "Including me."

Ron stopped walking and faced Hermione, the girl who saved his life more times than he could count, who both frustrated and fascinated him. For the first time he could remember, she looked uncertain.

"What's your plan?"

She sighed. "I have to talk to him. I wasn't ready last night. I ran away before he could say anything."

"Why?"

"Because I know what he's going to say," she fumed. "He's going to tell me he loves me, but not the way I love him. He's going to apologize. He's going to tell me he's too old for me and that I can do better than him. The bastard is going to let me down gently," she finished, her eyes flashing in anger.

"He is a bastard," Ron agreed.

The urge to laugh superseded Hermione's urge to cry, though that didn't stop few tears from falling. Ron pulled her to him, resting his hands on her waist and his chin on her head as she sniffled into his shirt, wishing there was something he could do to hurt Sirius for hurting Hermione. Maybe his brothers would have an idea.

"I can't speak for Sirius because I never had a girl throw herself at me, but you say he's scared, yeah?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Did you ever think that, I don't know, maybe he's not ready for you?"

She pulled back a little, sniffing a little as she wiped her face. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you're a force to be reckoned with, Hermione. You're not just some girl guys pick up for a good time. You're the whole package. Anyone who approaches you, well, they have to be prepared for the long haul because you deserve nothing less than forever."

That did it. She started crying in earnest, her hands gripping the back of Ron's T-shirt as she let go of months of angst, fear and frustration. He was right. She deserved the best and her mind, the best was Sirius Black. If he didn't get that, it was too damn bad.

* * *

><p>It was barely 8 a.m. when Sirius walked down to the kitchen, but the house was empty. A note propped in the middle of the kitchen table informed him and Tonks and Remus were spending the day at Andromeda's and Harry was at the Weasleys. There was nothing from Hermione, though her bedroom door was open and the room empty when he walked by it earlier.<p>

He didn't blame her for running. He did the same to her, after all. He didn't plan on it. He fell asleep minutes after her confession, his mind and body unable to comprehend the enormity of her words. In the light of day, however, her whispered words brought a wave of panic. He wasn't the villainous Sirius Black the papers made him out to be, but he wasn't innocuous, either. He might have been innocent of the murder that landed him in Azkaban, but that didn't make him an innocent man. Who was she to make such a claim? What did she see when she looked at him? Was she attracted to the scars, those visible to the naked eye and those that were not? Was he just another one of her boys to save?

He lay in his bed, Hermione in his arms, his frustration growing with every breath she took. She didn't move when he slid out from the covers, a testament to her own exhaustion. Still, he cast a silencing spell on himself as he moved around his room, throwing anything he could think of in a black leather satchel, the urge to run greater than the day he left Grimmauld Place an angry teenager. He let that need surpass his wish to stay with Harry, Remus and, yes, Hermione. He would miss her, but he refused to be a charity case. If he was worth saving, he'd be the one to do it.

"You look angry."

His head jerked up, gray eyes flashing as they narrowed on the woman standing in the kitchen doorway. She was wearing a pair of faded jeans and an oversized sweatshirt, her wild curls pulled into a high ponytail. She gave him a hesitant smile, but made no move to enter the kitchen.

"I wasn't sure I'd see you." His voice was gruff. She had the habit of walking in on him when he was feeling particularly vulnerable. He hated that.

"Today?"

"Today, tomorrow," he shrugged. "You took off pretty quick last night."

She cocked her head. "I could say the same thing about you."

He smirked. "Good one."

She raised her chin in acknowledgement, but didn't reply. Neither spoke as they sized each other up, each one waiting for the other to make the first move. Had Sirius' stomach not growled, they might have stayed there all morning.

"Will you sit down while I get something to eat?" he asked, gesturing to the chairs around the scarred oak table. She nodded, taking the seat furthest from where he'd been sitting. She remained silent as he put on the tea kettle and made a couple pieces of toast. He prepared a cup for her, sliding it across the table before taking his own seat. He watched as she blew on the hot liquid, her lips forming a perfect 'O.' For a second, a split second, he reconsidered what he was going to say, but then she looked at him, her face full of expectations.

"Hermione … I'm sorry."

She let out her breath. She knew it. Part of her, a teeny-tiny part that she was so afraid to acknowledge that she all buy buried it deep inside her soul where no one would ever find it, had hoped for more, had wished he'd have the courage to acknowledge what she knew to be true, but he didn't. He wouldn't.

"That night …" He took a deep breath. "I shouldn't have let what happened happen."

"Nothing happened, Sirius."

"It wasn't completely innocent, either. You're a smart girl; you know that." He took a sip of tea to ease the lump in his throat. Why was this hard? "I want you to know I didn't plan on leaving that morning and when I did, I had no idea I'd be gone so long."

"Where did you go?"

He smiled. That was so like her. Here they were, two people having what had to be one of the most awkward conversations of their lives and instead of yelling at him for leaving her, she wanted to know more about his travels. Her mind, the way she approached things, was fascinating. If he could, he'd spend the rest of his life watching her think.

"Everywhere," he replied, forcing himself to focus on the now and not impractical musings. "I needed to get away, to go to places I'd never been and get lost in crowds. I had, as Remus succulently put it, shit to deal with." He took a deep breath. "I couldn't do it here."

She coked her head to one side, studying him in that way she had that made him feel exposed. "Did it help?"

He closed his eyes, partly to avoid her steady gaze, but also to remember how it felt to wake up one morning on a beach in Brazil after his first full night of sleep sans nightmares in years. He sat in the sand and watched the sun rose over the horizon and in his heart, his _soul_, he felt a stirring of something he couldn't name, but in that moment, he realized he wasn't completely broken, that there were parts of him left saving and, if he wanted to, he could be whole again.

And he cried. He cried for James, his friend, his brother, and the first person he ever truly loved. He cried for Remus, for the years he believed he betrayed him and the years he left his friends to suffer alone. He cried for his parents, Charlus and Dorea, who had so much faith in him. He cried for Lily, who came to the magical world with stars in her eyes only to be destroyed by hate. He cried for Harry, an innocent child who deserved love, happiness and peace. He made a promise that he would give Harry everything he could – family, support, joy. He would not let his past mistakes ruin his future with his Godson. He could be the man Dorea told him he was, the man James and Lily believed him to be when they asked him to be Harry's Godfather.

The man Hermione believed she saw when she said she loved him.

"Yeah," he said hoarsely, eyes still closed. "It helped."

She looked down, fighting the urge to crawl into Sirius' lap and hold on to him, to offer the comfort she so desperately wanted to give.

She tried that once before and he rejected her. She wasn't fool enough to do so again. Not now.

"Then I'm glad you went," she whispered.

He opened his eyes. "That's it? You tell me you love me, I take off for months, and all you can say is you're glad I went?"

She sat back, alarmed by the sharpness of his tone. Did he … She took a deep breath before opening her mouth. She needed to be careful. "What do you want me to say?" Her tone was cautious. "I don't own you, Sirius. When I said I loved you, you said it back, but I know you didn't mean it the same way. Have your … have your feelings changed?"

He slowly shook his head, his face devoid of all emotion except guilt.

"So, that's it then," she said briskly, forcing herself to smile even though her heart was breaking. She picked up her tea, pleased to see her hands were steady, and drained the cup.

"You are amazing, Hermione. You deserve so much more than I can give you. Your life is just beginning and mine -"

"Yours is just beginning, too," she said softly.

She was right, as usual. He was a free man. He didn't have to spend his days locked in Grimmauld Place, transfiguring into Padfoot for the tiniest bit of freedom. He could do whatever he wanted. He had the time. He had the money. What more did he need?

_"__I love you." _

_"__I love you, too." _

_"__That's not what I mean. I really love you."_

He sighed heavily, prompting Hermione to shoot him a sympathetic look.

"Don't beat yourself up about this too long, Sirius," she told him, pushing her chair away from the table and sending her empty teacup to the sink with a casual flick of her wand. Walking around the table, she rested her hand on his shoulder, giving in to her urge to touch him, but also to prove that she could and remain whole. "I assume Remus and Harry told you I'm living here. If you'd rather I leave -"

"What?" Surprised by the abrupt change of subject, it took him a second to realize what she said. He'd think about the bubble of panic her words caused later. "No! This is your home. Stay."

She smiled her agreement, which annoyed Sirius for some reason. They could have been discussing the weather given how calm she was. Why the fuck was she so composed? She had said she loved him and he told her he didn't feel the same. Shouldn't she be mad? Sad? Did she not mean it? Or did she stop?

He ran his hand over his face. What a fucking mess.

"It's settled then," he told her.

"Great," she replied, smiling brightly.

"Yeah. Great."

She leaned down to kiss him softly on the cheek. "I'm glad you're home, Sirius," she told him before exiting the kitchen, leaving a confused man in her wake.

What the hell just happened?


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you so much for the positive response to this story! I hoped to update sooner, but I was offered a couple of freelance articles and money is a nice thing to have, so I focused on those first. Hopefully this chapter awards your patience.**

**Legalities: I do not own Harry Potter. These characters belong to J.K. Rowling and Scholastic, Inc.**

* * *

><p>She was sitting on her bed when she heard the roar of Sirius' motorcycle. Considering the fact that he chose to go for a ride rather than retreat to his room and drink a victory, she decided the time had come to make her room at Grimmauld Place truly her own.<p>

Hermione had packed most of her belongings after she decided to _Obliviate_ her parents' memories thinking, albeit naively, that she would have a room in their new house after she restored their memories. The Order was not aware that the Grangers were already targeted by Death Eaters, and that Rodolphos Lestrange and Antonin Dolohov were waiting to greet them in Australia; information Rodolphos chose to share just before Kingsley Shacklebolt sent the curse that ended his life.

"It wasn't worth it!" Hermione screamed days later, throwing a crystal decanter in frustration, the glass shattering against the dark-paneled wall.

"You didn't know," Harry started only to have Hermione turn on him.

"A year, Harry! I could have had another year with my parents! Instead, I made it so they didn't know who I was, and deluded myself into thinking they're safe and sound where no one can touch them! They've been dead this whole time! I didn't even go to their funeral!"

Collapsing to the ground, knees to her chest, Hermione wailed for her beloved mother and father. She felt Harry against her back, his strong arms enveloping her as Ron lay on the floor facing her, taking her clenched fists in his hands and bringing them to his chest, squeezing them lightly. Neither boy spoke, but let her cry until she was empty. When tears gave way to whimpers, they helped her to her bedroom and the three of them crawled into her bed together, each one serving as a lifeline for the others throughout the long night.

It was the only time Hermione let herself grieve in front of her friends. Everyone was affected by the war. Her loss wasn't any greater than others mourning parents, children, and spouses. Resolved to bearing the weight of her sorrow alone, she banished the shrunken boxes containing her books and other personal items from her childhood home underneath her bed at Sirius' house, not wanting anything that reminded her of what she loss in her sight.

Sighing, Hermione flicked her wand to move the boxes to the center of her bedroom, sneezing as dust filled the air. Standing in the middle of the room, hands on her hips, Hermione considered the space that was now her own. Like all of the bedrooms at Grimmauld Place, it was large; nearly three times the size of the bedroom she grew up in and nearly equal to the dormitories at Hogwarts. She and Ginny had shared it for years, and she had fond memories of laughing and gossiping with her friend on their twin beds. Now, the room had only one queen-sized bed, along with a desk and chair, an overstuffed armchair, and several bookshelves. A fireplace was situated along one wall, with oversized windows on either side. The doorway to the bathroom was also the connection between her room and Harry's.

Most of Hermione's clothes were hanging in the walk-in wardrobe, but the time had come to add personal touches to her space, beginning with the walls.

"I wish someone would tell me why every room in this place needs to look like a tomb," she muttered, shrugging out of Harry's sweatshirt to reveal Sirius' Rolling Stones T-shirt underneath.

With one hand on her hip, she considered her options, and charmed the navy blue walls to a gray blue. Feeling lighter already, she enlarged the box labeled 'blankets and towels,' pushing aside the wave of pain at the sight of her old baby blanket until she dug out a new set of white linens. These she transfigured into curtains, replacing the heavy black velvet drapes that blocked her view of the backyard. She wanted to burn the discarded curtains, but decided that wouldn't be polite. She considered taking them to the attic, but Tonks wasn't sure she had effectively rid the space of dark magic; it required Black blood and hers was rather diluted. Rather than risk it, Hermione folded them and placed them outside the hallway. She'd ask Remus to take care of them later.

The essentials finished, Hermione used her wand to arrange her furniture and resize the bookshelves to hold her extensive collection. She then enlarged the remaining boxes and began unpacking, ready to tackle the laborious yet entertaining task of arranging her books.

That's how Harry found her nearly six hours later, surrounded by empty boxes and piles of books, lying on her stomach, propped up on her elbows, turning the pages of a brightly-colored picture book with an indulgent smile on her face.

"I love what you've done to the place," laughing at her shriek.

"Harry!" Hermione yelled, one hand on her chest as she struggled to her feet. "Do not sneak up on me!"

Grinning, Harry held up the wand he found the floor. "This is the only reason I felt safe doing that."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione snatched the wand from his hand. "What time is it?"

"Nearly four."

That explained the empty feeling in her stomach. Pushing it aside, she stood by her friend as he studied her room. "So, what do you think?"

Harry smiled. The mess of books aside, her room finally looked like her. Textbooks, quills and ink were neatly arranged on the desk, framed photographs were displayed on the fireplace mantel, and a collection of pillows in varying sizes sat at the head of her bed, along with a stuffed rabbit that, once upon a time, might have been white. Crookshanks was sound asleep in the armchair. Hermione had charmed the fabric charmed to match the walls with yellow piping for a pop of color.

"I need you to change some things in my room," he told her. "I have a hard time telling night from day."

"Help me finish up first," she said, moving a stack of children's books to the lowest shelf on the bookcase next to her bedroom door.

"You're going to let me touch your books?" Hermione rarely let anyone touch her books. Even Remus, who loved books just as much as she did, had to go through an extensive borrowing process before she'd lend him one.

"No," she snorted. "Take care of the boxes."

Harry rolled his eyes, but did as she asked, shrinking them until all fit in one container the size of a shoebox. He smiled as Hermione hummed under her breath as she organized dozens of tomes, knowing she'd rearrange her entire collection at least three more times before she was satisfied.

It made her happy. That was all he cared about.

"Have you eaten today?" he asked after everything had been put away.

"I had a scone while I was waiting for ..." Hermione flinched, hoping Harry didn't catch what she didn't say.

"Waiting for whom?"

No such luck, she thought.

"Neville. He's going to take notes for me in Professor McGonagall's class."

Harry looked at Hermione like he didn't believe her, but decided to let it go. Grateful, Hermione looked down at her dust-covered clothing. Her hair had long since escaped from the loose bun she'd pulled it into that morning and she could feel it taking a life of its own. "I am hungry," she admitted. "I'm going to take a shower and then we can start dinner."

"My room first? Please?"

Laughing at Harry's pleading expression, she walked with him through their bathroom to his bedroom. His walls were dark gray with the same oppressive black velvet curtains.

"Do you have a color preference?" Hermione asked, raising her wand.

"Nothing girly – or green!"

Smirking at Harry's anti-Slytherin declaration, Hermione decided to go full Gryffindor, making the walls a deep maroon.

"Do you have anything I can transfigure into curtains?"

Harry fingered the black velvet with distaste. "You can't do something with these?"

She shook her head. "Too heavy."

He gestured to his wardrobe. Pulling a few pairs of torn jeans from the pile of clothing she'd been telling him to throw out – or burn – for weeks, she transfigured them to tan curtains. Pulling the black tassels from the pile of curtains Harry just removed, she changed them to gold.

"I'm impressed." Harry admired his room.

"I'd be impressed if you picked up your dirty clothes," Hermione grinned on her way to the bathroom.

Ignoring the thump of whatever Harry jokingly threw at the closed door, she happily peeled off her dirty clothes, turning the shower to warm before stepping in with a sigh of satisfaction. Her year on the run with Harry and Ron gave her newfound appreciation for hot water.

* * *

><p>"How was the conversation with Ginny?"<p>

Harry looked up from peeling carrots and gave a half-hearted shrug. After several attempts at dating, he and Ginny decided to finally give things a go this summer. Everything was great until they realized their time together was limited. She would return to Hogwarts for her seventh year soon and he was embarking on a two-year auror training program. Tonks wasn't allowed to share details about academy life, but she also didn't deny it when Ron asked if it was true that trainees worked from dawn to dusk six days a week.

"I mean, even if she was home and we could spend my day off together, I probably wouldn't be the best company," Harry said, added the shaved carrots to the skillet. "We decided to take a break rather than put too much pressure on each other and possibly ruin things. We'll see where we are in a couple of years."

Watching Harry stir the carrots and garlic, Hermione had to admit she was impressed with how her friends chose to handle their relationship.

"Any luck trying to talk Ron into doing the same thing?"

Harry snorted. "Are you kidding? If he could marry Luna tomorrow, he would. You know, he was out pretty early this morning. I got to the Burrow around seven and his bed was empty."

Hermione didn't say anything as she focused on the dough on the table, using the marble rolling pin to smooth out the bubbles. She loved Harry's new obsession with Italian cooking, but didn't understand why he insisted on not using magic when he cooked. Her arms felt like lead and she still had to cut enough pasta to feed five.

"He got home about an hour after that. He said he was at Luna's, but when I said something to her at lunch, she had no idea what I was talking about."

"And you're surprised?" Hermione laughed. "You are talking about Luna."

Harry added the bowl of crushed tomatoes to the pan, watching Hermione out of the corner of his eye. Ron was pants at lying; everyone knew that. Hermione, though … There were times Harry wondered if she should have been sorted into Slytherin.

"I think Ron and Luna will be fine," Harry announced, taking out a second skillet to brown the Italian sausage. "There are some couples that simply belong together, you know? And whatever life throws at them, you know they'll be all right."

Hermione smiled at that. "I agree."

"Then there are couples that might not seem like the best match, but the fact is they see something in each other that no one else does. Their connection is deep; strong," Harry continued. "They tend to have a hard road, but it's worth it."

Hermione looked up. Harry was watching her with a steady gaze. "It is?"

"Absolutely. To give up would mean losing something incredible." Harry turned back to the stove. "You know, the idea of Ginny dating anyone else while I'm gone makes me almost nauseous. I think it was pretty obvious because she moved well out of arm's reach after I said it."

Hermione giggled. Ginny could not stand it when people got sick. Blood she could handle; vomit she could not. "So why did you tell her that?"

Harry leaned against the counter. "Because I love her and I want her to be happy. I hope we end up together, but I also don't expect her to spend the next two years waiting for me. If it's meant to be," he continued, giving Hermione a meaningful look, "it will be."

"So …" she said, placing the last of the cut pasta over the broom stick she had levitating at waist level. "You're saying people who belong together will end up together, no matter what."

"I'm saying people need to experience life before committing theirs to another person," Harry said. "We haven't had a lot of opportunities to act our age, Hermione. We haven't dated. We've only gotten drunk a handful of times. You've never done a walk of shame. I never sat around with a group of guys talking about some witch I hooked up with the night before."

"Our non-war fighting selves sound like slags."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean, Hermione."

She walked around the table and gave him a hug. "I do. Thank you."

"I hope you know what you're doing," he whispered as he returned her hug with one of his own.

He hoped Sirius did, too.

* * *

><p>"This is amazing, Harry," Sirius said, taking another bite of his pasta. "When did you learn to cook?"<p>

"This summer. It turns out Seamus Finnigan is, for lack of a better word, a wizard in the kitchen. He has his own restaurant in Diagon Alley; Hermione, Ron, Remus, and I dipped into our Order of Merlin accounts to play investors."

"We really just wanted a place to eat for free once Harry leaves," Remus joked.

Tonks raised her fork in agreement, knocking over her glass of water in the process. Remus reached out to catch it while Hermione froze the water. Sirius watched as neither broke rhythm after setting things right once more; apparently family-style meals were a regular occurrence amongst the group.

"Anyway, it's an eclectic menu. He spent most of June eating his way through different countries before owling us to see if we wanted to join him in Italy; make a trip of it."

Sirius looked at Harry and Hermione. "You went to Italy together?"

Hermione glared at her best friend. "No, Ron and Harry went to Italy together – along with Dean and Neville. I believe Seamus' note said 'Guys' weekend: dicks, not chicks.'"

"Lovely," Remus said wryly.

"I told you I was sorry," Harry said, putting his arm around Hermione. "Didn't Ron and I bring you presents? And haven't I taken your share of dinner duty since then?"

"Besides, it wasn't like she sat around pining for her boys." Tonks grinned wickedly.

"Wait – what?" Harry looked back and forth between Tonks and Hermione. "What did you do? Why am only I hearing about this now?"

Hermione laughed. "It's not a big deal. You guys were gone, so Luna, Ginny, Angelina, Katie and I had a girl's weekend, local-style."

Harry looked at Tonks. "How'd you know about this?"

The pink-haired auror snickered, avoiding Hermione's death glare. "Let's just say I introduced them to a friend."

Harry, Sirius and Remus exchanged confused expressions as the two witches laughed. Sirius was about to push for details when a tapping on the dining room window interrupted him. He snapped his fingers to open the window, watching as a gray owl swept inside, dropping an envelope by Hermione's plate.

"No owls during dinner," Harry joked.

"Who's it from?" Tonks asked.

Hermione broke the green and silver seal, and opened the cream-colored envelope.

_La mia bella ragazza,_

_Please tell me you were telling the truth when you agreed to see me again. _

_I would like to take you out Friday night. Send your reply with Grigio. If it is yes, I will pick you up at 7. If it is no, then I will go to sleep with a broken heart._

_Blaise _

"Hermione?"

Ignoring Harry, Hermione studied the parchment. On one hand, she had absolutely no interest in Blaise Zabini. On the other hand, she wasn't going to stop living her life simply because she was waiting for Sirius Black to put his together. Normally she didn't appreciate when people played games to get what they want, but honesty didn't work for her. Perhaps it was time to try a different tactic.

"Who is it from?" Tonks asked.

"Blaise Zabini wants to take me out Friday night," Hermione replied, still trying to process what was happening and missing the look Remus gave Sirius. "I'm sorry; I don't think the owl will leave until I respond. I'll be right back."

She left the dining room, the owl flying after her. Sirius watched both exit with a sneer on his face.

"Zabini? Slytherin, right?"

Harry nodded.

He snorted. "Like Hermione will agree to a date with a Slytherin."

"I don't know, cousin," Tonks told him. "Blaise Zabini is nearly as beautiful as his mother."

Sirius turned his attention to his plate, taking another bite of his pasta, though he no longer tasted it. What was taking Hermione so long? How much time did it take to write "Bugger off" on a piece of parchment? He was just about to go after her when she returned.

"That was rude; I'm sorry." Hermione took her chair, her cheeks slightly flushed. Everyone was silent as they waited for her to say something.

"Well?" Sirius asked impatiently.

"Oh, the owl left through the kitchen window."

"That's not what I meant," he replied, gritting his teeth.

"Then say what you mean," she returned testily.

"Are you going out with Blaise Zabini Friday night?" Remus jumped in, hoping to diffuse the tension in the room.

"I am. Tonks, I may need some help finding something to wear."

"On it," she grinned.

Sirius dropped his fork on his plate with a clatter. "Are you serious?!"

Hermione laughed. "No; you are."

"Don't," he growled. "That's only funny when I say it."

Shaking her head, Hermione pushed back from her chair and started stacking the empty plates. They had a rule at Grimmauld Place. If you cooked, you were excused from clean up. Molly Weasley was trying to institute the same rule at the Burrow with varying degrees of success. Magic obviously made the chose easier than it was in the Muggle world, but that didn't mean it was fun.

"He's a Slytherin, Hermione," Sirius continued.

"I'm aware. I did attend classes with him for six years."

"Are you honestly telling me you trust that snake?"

Hermione turned toward Sirius, who was sitting at the head of the table. "You've been gone for a while, Sirius, so I'm going to let your ignorance slide for now. You should know as well as anyone that not all Slytherins are evil. Look at Professor Snape."

"You mean Snivellus," he muttered.

"I mean Professor Snape!" Hermione yelled, slamming the plates back on the dining room table with a clatter. "That man nearly gave his life several times over saving Harry and you damn well will show him the respect he deserves! War changes people, Sirius. It's time you grew up and realized that."

Looking at the others sitting at the table, Hermione took a deep breath. "I apologize for my outburst," she said with a weak smile. "If you'll excuse me, I feel a headache coming on. I'm going to lay down for a bit. If you leave the dishes, I'll do them later."

"Don't worry, Hermione; I'll take care of it," Remus said.

Nodding her thanks, Hermione left the dining room. Sirius watched her departure with a stubborn look on his face before he pushed back his own chair and left, too.

"This is going to be so much fun," Remus groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. Harry smiled in sympathy, but Tonks simply grinned.

It really was.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I don't speak Italian, so if the translations are messed up, blame Google translate.**

**La mia bella ragazza = My pretty girl**

**Grigio = Gray (I suck at naming owls)**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: So many wonderful comments about the last chapter; thank you! This chapter includes some fun conversations I've been giggling over since this story began. I'm happy to finally have them out there so I can have company. **

**Legalities: I do not own Harry Potter. These characters belong to J.K. Rowling and Scholastic, Inc.**

* * *

><p>Sirius stomped to the study, determined to chase away the bad taste in his mouth with a glass or two of firewhiskey. Hell, maybe he'd drink the whole bottle. He was an adult. It was his fucking house. He could do whatever the hell he wanted.<p>

He slammed the bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey on his father's desk and flopped on the man's worn leather chair, swinging his booted feet up to rest them on the polished oak. Grabbing the bottle, he twisted off the cap, inhaling the familiar scent. It had been too long since his last drink. It wasn't that he planned on spending his time away sober, but as he neglected to pack any firewhiskey in his rush to get away and purposely avoided wizard societies while he was gone, the opportunity to drown his woes in his alcohol of choice never presented itself. He tried getting drunk on Muggle whiskey, but it wasn't the same and for some reason, hangover potions weren't as effective combating the effects of Muggle alcohol. He should ask Remus about that sometime, though he'd probably tell him he wasn't a potioneer and to ask Snape instead.

Snape. Snivellus. Sneering, Sirius lifted the bottle to his lips and chugged a swallow, nearly choking as the alcohol burned down his throat.

"Fuck," he gasped, coughing as he struggled to draw his next breath. He'd forgotten how potent firewhiskey was. Maybe he needed to ease into drinking again, a glass after dinner or at some pub with Remus and Harry. There was no rule demanding he consume it all in one sitting. Despite what people thought, he did have some discipline.

Screwing the cap back on the bottle, he sent it back to the bar with a flick of his wand and made his way to the kitchen for a glass of water, stopping in his tracks at the mess that greeted him. The kitchen table was covered in flour, bits of raw pasta dough littered the floor, and the counter was piled with pots and pans. Harry may be a great cook, but he didn't possess his mother's neatness. Did the boy not learn any housekeeping charms? Molly Weasley practically perfected them. Surely she passed on some of her knowledge to the Harry and Hermione. She considered them her own; anything she taught her children, they were sure to know it, too.

"Harry doesn't use magic when he cooks," Remus answered Sirius' silent questions, nudging his friend aside as he made his way into the kitchen, a pile of plates in his arms.

"Why the hell not?" Sirius said, water forgotten as he watched his friend look around the kitchen with a resigned look.

Remus shrugged, undoing the buttons on the cuffs of his light blue cotton shirt and rolling up the sleeves. "No idea, but if cleaning up the aftermath means avoiding Hermione's cooking for another night, I'm happy to do it."

Sirius smirked. "So there's something the little bookworm can't do?"

Remus laughed, filling the kitchen sink with soapy water, before waving his wand so the dishes would wash and rinse themselves, grateful Harry's no magic rule only applied to cooking. "Whoever said 'If you can read a cookbook, you can cook,' never met our Hermione. She's hopeless. Even Molly doesn't try anymore."

Following his friend's lead, Sirius pointed his wand at the broom closet, opening the door and starting the broom on a path around the kitchen. A wet rag was cleaning the table as Harry entered the kitchen with more dishes.

"Please tell me you didn't leave my wife to bring the glasses." Remus looked alarmed at the thought of Tonks with the Black crystal.

Harry looked incredulous. "Do I look like I just met Tonks? She's upstairs with Hermione, something about having a fashion show," he continued, stepping aside to the glasses floating behind him could make their way to the sink.

"I thought the rule was the person who cooks is excused from cleaning up," Sirius remarked.

"Usually, but when your room is connected to a witch who is trying on clothes for a date, the last thing you want is to be within the vicinity of that activity lest they ask for your opinion." Harry shuddered at the thought. "Anything I say is bound to be wrong."

Not wanting to think about Hermione's future date with Blaise Zabini, Sirius changed the subject to the Auror Training Academy, sharing a few stories of his own instruction when he and James went through the program. Harry was a sucker for stories about his dad, so Sirius took a seat at the table to share a few he'd yet to tell the boy. Remus made tea and joined him, the two Marauders laughing over memories as Harry listened with wide eyes.

It was good to be home.

* * *

><p>"No. No, no, no, no."<p>

Tonks eyed the black dress in her hands critically – Hermione called it simple; Tonks declared it was boring – and shook her head, tossing it on the bed with everything else she rejected.

Hermione groaned, throwing up her hands in frustration. "You have vetoed everything I own! Unless you want me to go on this date naked, we're out of options."

Tonks snickered. "I'm sure Blaise would love that."

"Tonks …"

"I'm kidding, Hermione! I don't expect you to do that on the first date. Third date, maybe -"

"Tonks!"

Still laughing, Tonks started picking up the dresses Hermione had tossed on her bed, apologizing to Crookshanks who was buried under the fabric. While none of them were date-ready now, a few had potential. Being a Metamorphmagus, she was a natural at Transfiguration. If Hermione gave her the OK, she could transform some of these shapeless sacks she called dresses into form-fitting ensembles that would bring Blaise to his knees. If someone else happened to be effected too, well that wasn't her problem now, was it?

"You know," Tonks started, sliding the long sleeves of a plain gray dress onto a hanger, "you have two days. I'm working the night shift tomorrow, so if you want to go shopping …" She let her voice trail off, knowing the only kind of shopping Hermione enjoyed was that which took place in a book store. Glancing out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hermione shudder. This was too easy.

"I'm supposed to go to the Ministry tomorrow to attend an employee orientation and set my schedule," Hermione replied, grateful she had a valid excuse for avoiding a shopping expedition. "Then I want to stop by St. Mungo's and visit Professor Snape. Harry said he finished the last book I lent him, so I'm sure he's tormenting the staff while waiting for something new to read."

Shivering at the thought of willingly engaging in conversation with the surly professor, Tonks latched on to the information that Harry was visiting Snape. "When did Harry and Snape become friends?"

"Professor Snape," Hermione automatically corrected. "I wouldn't go so far as to call them friends. Harry would like them to be, but he's finding it isn't as easy as he thought. According to him, Professor Snape was sure he wouldn't survive the war, which is the only reason he gave Harry his memories. The fact that Harry knows his motivation for being a double agent kills him, almost as much as Harry's apologies for his behavior while we were at Hogwarts."

"Is he any nicer to you?"

Hermione shrugged. "I don't get as many insults, but then again, I don't start each visit by thanking him profusely."

Not that she didn't want to. She didn't know everything Harry saw in Dumbledore's pensieve and didn't press her friend for details, but that didn't stop her from bursting into tears when Professor McGonagall informed the Order that he would survive Nagini's attack. Hermione, Ron and Harry had rushed into the Shrieking Shack seconds after Voldemort and Nagini disappeared, the boys staying long enough to collect Snape's memories before returning to the castle. Hermione stayed, not wanting Snape to die alone. She dumped out the collection of potions in her beaded bag, pouring everything she could down the professor's throat – blood replenishing, pain, invigoration – while keeping one hand pressed on the cloth she held on his throat.

"Granger," he gasped. "Leave."

"No!" she cried, gripping a cork stopper between her teeth to open another pain potion.

"Death eaters … coming. Can't … be … here."

"I won't leave you alone!"

"One time … do what … you're ... told."

He closed his eyes then, his breath less labored. Taking a chance, Hermione cast a stasis spell on her professor and rushed back to Hogwarts. After Voldemort was defeated, she altered Professor McGonagall to his whereabouts, not knowing if her efforts made a difference in the man's life. After the good news of his survival wore off, Hermione feared Professor Snape would despise her even more for her role in saving his life.

She wasn't wrong. He refused to look at her the first time she visited him at St. Mungo's. His silent treatment continued during her second and third visit, too. On her fourth visit, she launched a one-sided conversation that lasted nearly an hour. When she returned two days later, he silently handed her a book when she sat in the chair next to his bed.

"What's this, sir?"

"Something I'd rather listen to than your constant chatter," he rasped, his usual silk tones strained. Exhausted, he closed his eyes as Hermione started reading.

She read two books to Professor Snape before his magic was strong enough to allow him to levitate a book and turn the pages. Knowing he appreciated books more than human company, Hermione brought him titles from her own collection, both wizard and Muggle titles. It turned out he was fascinated by the Narnia series; that is, if you considered the word "adequate" high praise.

"All right, then," Tonks said, bringing Hermione back to the problem at hand. "Why don't I take a few of these with me and see what I can do with them while you're visiting the grumpy professor?"

Hermione studied the collection of clothing Tonks had in her arms. She wasn't particularly attached to any of the pieces, but she also wasn't sure her idea of a date dress meshed with her friend's, who was currently sporting purple hair that flowed halfway down her back. Not wanting to be responsible for killing Tonks' enthusiasm, she nodded her agreement, choosing to ignore the witch's squeal of excitement as she ran out of the room as if she was worried Hermione would change her mind if she stayed.

* * *

><p>"Sir, may I ask you a question?"<p>

Severus Snape arched an eyebrow at Hermione. "It would appear you just did."

She resisted rolling her eyes as she handed him his tea, having brought it from a café in Diagon Alley in attempt to improve his mood. Ignoring his sneer as he glared at the crimson to-go cup – the café was owned by Katie Bell's mom and the décor favored her family's Gryffindor roots – she removed the lid from her own tea and blew on it lightly. "May I ask you a question about one of your former students?"

"Gossip, Miss Granger? I must say I'm surprised."

She couldn't help but roll her eyes this time, settling into the armchair next to the bed as she did so, tucking her legs underneath her. "I don't suppose it's possible for you to speak to me without sarcasm? Or disdain?"

The dark haired wizard smirked. He detested the hospital and the healers who flittered in and out of his room at all hours of the day, but not as much as he loathed the visits from Order members and former students wishing to express their appreciation for his war efforts. Even Kingsley Shacklebolt had made an embarrassing speech before bestowing an Order of Merlin First Class upon him. The new Minister for Magic had barely left the room before he banished it to his bedroom in Spinner's End, not caring if he ever saw it again. Miss Granger, however, was tolerable. She wasn't effusive her with appreciation nor did she apologize for past transgressions. If she ever looked on him with pity, it was not in his presence and he was grateful for that. She was one of only a few people he could endure spending time with while subjected to this torture they call bed rest.

"Anyway," Hermione continued, ignoring her professor, "I hoped you could shed some light on Blaise Zabini."

That was unexpected. Severus assumed she was referring to Draco Malfoy when she poised her question. "May I inquire as to your sudden interest in Mr. Zabini?"

Hermione blushed. "Um, well, it seems he's taken an interest in me. He and I are going out Friday night."

Two decades of practice meant Severus Snape was an expert at shielding his facial expressions, but even he wasn't prepared for the words that came out of Hermione's mouth. Blaise Zabini was not as prejudiced as most Slytherins, but he never expressed an interest in his Muggle-born classmates the years he was under his tutelage, either.

"I'm sure you'll understand Miss Granger that this conversation is not one I feel comfortable engaging in with you," he said carefully while considering why the wizard might be interested in the witch who was biting her lip and refusing to look him in the eye.

"Believe me, Professor, this is one conversation I would love not to have, but …" she trailed off, shrugging her shoulders uncomfortably as she took sudden interest in her tea.

Sighing, Severus set his own tea on the tray next to his bed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, wishing he hadn't mentioned finishing the book to Potter; information that surely made the witch eager to bring him another. If he had kept his mouth shut, perhaps she would have skipped visiting him until after her date, saving him from this awkward moment. He longed to tell the girl he was not under any obligation to offer counsel on her love life, but he supposed he did owe her a debt.

"If you're concerned his interest is a ruse, let me reassure you that he was never one for such foolishness," he said, choosing his words carefully. "If he's expressed an interest in you, it's genuine."

Rather than look pleased by his words, the witch blushed. "Thank you, sir."

Waving away her gratitude with his hand, he reached for the book she'd placed on his bed moments earlier. "We will never mention this conversation again, Miss Granger."

"I understand."

* * *

><p>"What did you do?!"<p>

Tonks flinched at Hermione's high-pitched shriek. She was worried she'd react this way, which is why she flooed Ginny and Luna for reinforcements, though neither witch had shown up before Hermione discovered the transfigured dresses hanging in her closet. Grateful Remus was home and would come to her rescue should she need him, she walked into Hermione's room, trying not to show her nerves as her friend glared at the three dresses now lying on her bed.

"Aren't they beautiful?" Tonks' voice was filled with cheer she didn't feel, though she was proud of her handiwork. The gray dress Hermione was holding out at arm length was her favorite of the three. Originally long-sleeved and frumpy, it was made of a light fabric that was soft to the touch. Tonks' spell had shorten the hem considerably and gotten rid of the sleeves altogether. The wide bright purple belt would highlight Hermione's figure.

Putting the dress down, Hermione picked up the second, a coral lace dress with spaghetti straps and a thin brown leather belt with a gold clasp. "I don't remember this one," she murmured, holding it up to herself.

"It used to be dress robes," Tonks volunteered helpfully, wondering again where Ginny and Luna could be.

Sighing, Hermione looked at the third and final option: a skin-tight black dress with a sweetheart bodice that hugged the waist before flowing out in a fun, albeit short, bottom. Tonks had layered the dress with black lace, which ran an inch below the skirt's hem.

"Ooh, try that one on first," Ginny begged as she walked in the room, Luna directly behind her.

"It's about time you got here," Tonks hissed as the two witches joined her on Hermione's bed.

"Do you want to explain to my mother that we are tarting Hermione up to entice a Slytherin," the redhead whispered in response, smirking when Tonks shook her head. Luna ignored the exchange, instead picking up the coral dress and handing it to Hermione.

"Go on," she said, waving to the bathroom. "We'll wait here."

Not knowing how to refuse their flighty but innately kind friend, Hermione did as instructed. After making sure the door leading to Harry's room was locked, she shed her gray cotton shorts and plain pink T-shirt, and dropped the coral dress over her head. She loved how the fabric felt against her skin, though the straps kept sliding down her shoulders. Deciding a sticking charm would take care of that, she fastened the belt around her waist and opened the bathroom door.

"Wow!" Ginny cried. "Tonks, if I bring you some clothes, could you make a few changes before I leave for school?"

"You don't think it's too …" Hermione struggled to find the right word as she studied her reflection in the full length mirror by her wardrobe. The mirror's low whistle in response did not help the situation.

"It's perfect," Tonks assured her. "Dressy enough for most restaurants and clubs, yet casual enough so you won't feel overdressed in less formal environments."

"You'll need to lose the bra," Luna said in her straightforward way, overlooking Hermione's blush as she walked to her wardrobe, digging through her lingerie before pulling out a strapless bra in silver. Ignoring Tonks' whistle of approval, Hermione snatched it from Luna's hands as she silently stepped into the wedged sandals Luna handed her. The heels added two inches to her small stature.

"I vote for this one," Luna announced.

"No voting until she's tried on every dress," Tonks declared, handing Hermione the gray dress. Minutes later, she silently cast her vote in favor of that one; though she wasn't sure any of them had the right shoes for it.

"Finally," Ginny cried, thrusting the black dress into Hermione's hands. "I can't wait to see this one."

Hermione groaned and ducked into the bathroom once more. Tonks was amazing, she'd give her that, but as she struggled to pull the dress on, she knew there was no way she'd ever feel comfortable wearing something so tight and so short. Turning to make sure the zipper was all the way up – how Muggle women dressed themselves without the assistance of charms was puzzling – Hermione slid on the black high-heeled stilettos Ginny brought from the Burrow, wobbling slightly. Taking a deep breath and opened the bathroom door and waited for her friend's reaction.

"That's it!" Ginny yelled. "That's the one!"

Luna nodded in agreement while Tonks sat back looking extremely smug.

"I don't know," Hermione hemmed, tugging at the dress. "It's so …"

"Perfect," Tonks supplied.

"Enchanting," Luna added.

"Hot," Fred said, making all four witches swivel in surprise.

"Fred!" Hermione cried, snatching up her bathrobe and clutching it to her chest. "Get out of here!"

"I hate to be the one to break it to you, love, but wearing a bathrobe in public will get you more stares than that dress ever will," Fred chuckled, ignoring her demand and walking inside, tugging the bathrobe out of her arms. Taking no notice her indignant huff, he studied her for a minute, his eyes lazily taking her in, before holding up a finger and twirling it in a circle as a request to turn around. Rolling her eyes, she did just that, smirking at his quiet groan.

"Fred, is there a reason you're here?" Ginny asked her brother.

"Oh, seeing as Granger here has plans to make Zabini drool all over Diagon Alley tomorrow night, George and I decided to arrange a poker game; you know, have all the men in her life in one spot so we're easy to find should she need us."

"I appreciate your concern, Fred, but I can handle myself," she told him.

"I know you can," he smirked. "I just want a front row seat when you do." With that, he leaned forward to kiss Hermione on her forehead before walking out of the room, yelling for George.

"I think he made the right call," Ginny announced. "The black dress wins!"

Hermione sighed, turning to the mirror once more. She was flattered by Fred's response, but he was a natural flirt. He'd leer at her if she was wearing a burlap sack as long as she was still showing some leg.

"Remus!" Tonks yelled suddenly. "Can you come here a minute?"

Hermione whirled around. "What are you doing?"

"We need a man's opinion," she laughed.

"You bellowed – what in Merlin's name are you wearing?" The sandy-haired werewolf stared at his former student in shock.

"Doesn't she look amazing?" Tonks sided up to her husband, threading her arm through his. He looked down at her, unsure how to answer that question.

"You're embarrassing him – and Hermione," Ginny laughed, leaning back against Hermione's headboard. She hadn't wanted to come over to Grimmauld Place, worried she might run into Harry despite Tonks' promise that he was out with Neville and Ron. They had parted as friends, but that didn't make seeing him any easier.

"You look beautiful," Remus murmured to Hermione before shooting his wife a desperate look. "Can I leave now?"

She opened her mouth to say yes when Sirius walked up behind them, clasping a hand on Remus' shoulder. "Moony, did you here? Poker here tomorrow and - bloody hell!"

The wizard stared at the witch standing in front of him, her cheeks flushed as he took in the scrap of fabric he assumed was a dress. Gray eyes trailed down Hermione's body, much like Fred's had minutes before, but while the red-head's gaze made her want to laugh, there was something predatory in Sirius' eyes that made her knees week and her insides warm. She no longer thought the dress was too tight, too short; not if it made Sirius Black look at her like she was a treat he wanted to devour.

"She looks pretty, doesn't she?" Luna prompted, her blue eyes moving back-and-forth between the witch and wizard who were staring at each other like no one else was in the room.

"Yeah. Pretty," Sirius grunted, forcing himself to stop looking at temptation. This dress was for another wizard; not him. "Hey, Moony, we need to go talk to Fred and George before they take off. Can I steal him, Tonks?"

She stood on her tiptoes to kiss her husband on the cheek before nudging him out the door and closing it. "Now," she said, turning back to the other witches. "How should she wear her hair?"

* * *

><p>Sirius paced around the library, hands stuffed inside the pockets of his worn jeans as he repeated his path, walking directly in front of Remus who was lounging on the couch with a book. The werewolf turned another page, steadfastly ignoring his friend who obviously wanted something.<p>

"You're going to have to talk to her."

Remus looked up from his book, not liking the grave expression on his friend's face. "To whom?"

"Hermione."

He sighed and closed the book, setting it on the couch. He knew Sirius wasn't thrilled that Hermione was going out with Zabini, but that was something he needed to deal with on his own. He was not going to get involved. "You refused her advances," he reminded his friend. "She has every right to see other men."

"Fine, but -"

"There is no 'but.' You can't push her aside and get pissed when she doesn't wait for you to change her mind," Remus continued, remembering how heartbroken Hermione was after Sirius disappeared.

"I'm not changing my mind, Moony," Sirius sighed, plopping on the other end of the couch. "I'm no good for her."

"Fine, you're no good for her," Remus repeated in a tone that made it obvious he thought Sirius was an idiot. "That doesn't mean someone else can't express an interest."

Sirius glared at Remus, hating his calm rationalization more now than then he did when they were teenagers and debating the merits of a prank that would leave every Slytherin glued to their seats in the Great Hall during a Hogsmeade Saturday.

"She's a grown woman, Sirius; she can take care of herself," Remus continued, picking up his book.

"Not against someone like Zabini!" Sirius protested, leaning forward to grab Remus' arm. "I know what wizard's his age think. _I_ was like that when I was his age. Do you honestly want Hermione going out with someone like me without some warning?"

Recalling some of Sirius' teenage transgressions, Remus groaned and pushed himself to his feet, tossing the book on to the coffee table as he cursed his best friend. "If she hexes me," he warned.

"I'll let you have a free shot," Sirius promised.

Shaking his head, Remus exited the library and trudged slowly to the staircase, trying to think of how he could get through the conversation in one piece while simultaneously devising ways to torture Sirius. He'd yet to settle on anything promising before he found himself outside Hermione's bedroom. Cursing his loyalty to his oldest friend, he knocked lightly on the door.

"Who is it?"

"Remus."

A moment later, the door opened, revealing Hermione dressed in plaid flannel shorts and one of Harry's Quidditch T-shirts. She was curled up in her armchair with a book in her hands and her cat in her lap. Ignoring the suspicious look Crookshanks gave him, Remus walked inside Hermione's room. "Do you have a minute?" he asked, perching on the edge of her bed.

Like he did moments before, she closed her book and set it aside. "What do you need?"

He took a deep breath. "I know we've known each other for a while now, nearly six years, and in that time, I've come to think of you as one of my friends; a dear friend."

Hermione smiled, one hand lazily stroking her cat who was still watching Remus with a glint in his eyes. "I think of you as a dear friend, too."

"At the same time, well, I also think of you – and Harry – as … let's say younger siblings, all right?"

"Um, okay," Hermione replied uncertainly, not understanding where Remus was coming from or what he was getting to.

"So, as someone who's older than you and looks out for you, I'm wondering if you're, um, prepared for tomorrow night."

Hermione stared at him, watching as his he clenched his hands resting on his knees, his eyes looking everywhere but at her as he waited for her response. "Gods, Remus, you're not trying to give me the sex talk, are you?"

"What?!" he cried, jumping to his feet. "No, I would never …" He swallowed his protest and considered the question. "Well, did your mother ever …"

"I was kidding!" she yelled, startling Crookshanks who leaped off of her lap seconds before Hermione jumped to her feet. "Who put you up to this? Harry? Ron?" Her eyes narrowed as another name popped in her head. "Did Sirius make you come upstairs and talk to me?"

Part of him wanted to throw Sirius in the path of Hermione's wrath, but the other part knew what he was going to say needed to be said. Hermione may considered an adult in the wizarding world – and the Muggle world, for that matter – and she may be war heroine, but she had led a sheltered life, or at least one that didn't allow for normal teenage activities. "I just wanted to be sure you knew how to take care of yourself if Zabini … well, if he tried something and you didn't want …" he trailed off, blushing furiously as Hermione burst out laughing.

Her merriment was worse than her anger.

"I'm sorry," she cried breathlessly, trying to reign in her hysterics. "This entire conversation; it's ridiculous! Remus, I was trained in defense – by you! I know hand-to-hand combat, courtesy of Kingsley _and_ your wife. And I'm pretty sure Blaise has seen me hex a few of his friends, so I doubt he'd try to push me to do anything I'm not willing to do."

When she put it that way, it made perfect sense. He felt like a fool; an old fool at that. He was going to kill Sirius. "Well, now that you've had your fun, I'm going to go and strangle someone."

"Wait!" Hermione put her arm on Remus', regretting her outburst. Despite the ridiculousness of the situation, he was one of the kindest people she knew and if he said he considered her place in his life as family, he meant it. "I'm sorry I laughed. I know you're only trying to help. Forgive me?"

Not able to ignore her pleading expression, he drew her in for a for hug, resting his chin on her head, still plotting Sirius' death even as he felt her arms wrap around his lean waist. Smiling as she rested her cheek against his chest, Hermione breathed in the scent of chocolate, ink and tea that was Remus. "I always wanted a big brother," she murmured.

"I asked my parents for a younger sibling," he confessed, running a hand down her curls. "I wasn't picky on the gender."

She pulled back slightly, her eyes twinkling in a way that reminded him of Fred and George. "Well, as the younger sister, I need to tell you something," she confessed, wrapping her hand around his neck, pulling his head down so she could whisper in his ear. "I heard Nymphadora Tonks likes you."

"That's it; the moment is ruined," Remus said, setting Hermione aside as she started laughing again, trailing him as he walked to the door. "You know, I'm not worried about you anymore. I think it's Mr. Zabini who needs fair warning. I have half a mind to owl him."

"Come on Remus, don't be like that!" Hermione called as he stomped down the hall. "I'm sure she'll go out with you if you asked. If you want, I could pass her a note during Arithmancy!"

Ducking to avoid the tickling hex he sent her way, she shut her door, still giggling as she got on her hands and knees to coax Crookshanks out from under her bed. If Remus' goal was to help her relax, he could consider his mission a success.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hermione is getting ready for her date with a Slytherin while the Gryffindor men gear up for poker night!**

**Legalities: I do not own Harry Potter. These characters belong to J.K. Rowling and Scholastic, Inc.**

* * *

><p>"You know what we need?"<p>

Hermione looked over at Harry, who was perched on the edge of the bathtub, elbows resting on his knees as he watched her paint her toenails a cheery red. He had knocked on their shared bath minutes earlier and had to agree not to make any comments about Slytherins, the colors green and silver, or Draco Malfoy before she let him in.

"You aren't event going out with -" he started, but one look at the steely-eyed witch made him swallow the rest of the sentence.

"What do we need?" Hermione held her right foot out, eyeing her toes critically. Her inspection wasn't necessary. Hermione started painting her toenails her fourth year at Hogwarts, her little concession to femininity that was private enough not to attract the attention, or the teasing, of Harry and Ron. Ginny had taught her the charms to complete manicures and pedicures magically sixth year, but seeing as nail polish was one of the few makeup items Hermione felt comfortable using, she chose to continue to paint her nails the Muggle way and save her magic for what really needed it.

Namely, her hair.

"We need a television," Harry continued, scooting over slightly so Hermione could prop her left foot on his thigh and complete her pedicure.

"Harry, electronics and magic don't mix."

"Says the witch listening to _Dave Matthews Band_ on a CD player."

She rolled her eyes. Harry always seemed to forget how many CD players she destroyed trying to find the right level of magic to power one without electricity, though she was glad he didn't bring up the blanket she accidentally set on fire at the Burrow. When Molly Weasley said she smelled smoke, Hermione and Harry had mumbled something about the twins working on a new product and ran outside before they could be questioned further.

"There's quite a difference between a television and a CD player, Harry," Hermione said, leaning forward to blow on her toes. "I, for one, can't afford to buy several televisions for the sole purpose of possibly blowing them up."

His eyes were hopeful. "Maybe you'll get it right on the first try."

She smirked. "Yes, because that happens."

"I bet Sirius would buy them," Harry suggested, not wanting to drop the subject. Growing up in the Muggle world, he had – like Hermione – adapted to his magical roots easily, but there were times he missed technology. They had no use for microwaves and dishwashers in the wizarding world, but a television and VCR would be nice. Now that he wasn't fighting for his life, Harry found himself getting bored in the evenings.

"Harry, you leave for the academy in a week. Even if I managed to do it, you won't be around to watch," Hermione pointed out, waving her hands back and forth to dry the polish on her fingernails.

"But when I'm home -"

"You'll be sleeping."

"Will you just think about it? Please?" He gave her that smile that never failed to charm her. According to Remus, it's the smile that finally made Lily Evans cave. Hermione was grateful she never harbored romantic feelings for Harry. If she could barely handle that look as his friend, what impact would it have on a girlfriend?

"I'll think about it," she sighed.

He jumped up and ignoring her screech of protest, picked her up and swung her in a quick circle, her pink polka-dotted bathrobe twirling around her legs while her arms were trapped between their bodies. "You're the best!"

Stumbling out of Harry's grasp, she held a hand up warningly as she backed away from him. "Fine, I'm the best. Now will you please leave so I can finish getting ready?"

Harry rolled his eyes, but turned to leave, stopping only to turn around with a serious look on his face. "If he tries anything …"

"You'll hex his balls off. I know the speech, Harry," she replied in a resigned tone. It didn't matter that she was the brains behind most of their successful schemes; Harry and Ron had it in their heads that because she was female, they had to defend her. Part of her knew their protectiveness stemmed from the guilt both had about her torture at Malfoy Manor, so she endured their male posturing with controlled patience, though she was struggling at the moment.

"Zabini hasn't heard it," Harry replied.

"Harry, no one has heard that speech." It was a sore reminder that her dating life … well, she didn't have a dating life.

"Viktor's lucky we didn't have it ready fourth year," Harry started, but hearing Hermione's frustrated growl, decided to retreat.

* * *

><p>An hour later, Hermione studied her reflection in the full-length mirror, forcing herself to look at her image objectively. The dress was amazing; she'd never deny Tonks' transfiguration abilities. Part of her still worried that black lace was too suggestive for a first date, but then she remembered how Sirius' eyes had darkened when he saw her in it and her doubt vanished.<p>

Rather than attempt to keep her balance in the stilettos Ginny offered to lend her, Hermione went out that afternoon and bought a pair of low-heeled black sandals. The thin black leather straps wrapped around her ankles and fastened with silver clasps. The shoes originally had a sturdy one-inch heel, but Hermione experimented with a series of cushioning and balancing charms, eventually increasing the height to three inches. With magic, though, the sandals felt as comfortable as her bare feet and the heels, while appearing stick thin, were more than an inch thick.

She wished she'd taken Tonks up on her offer to do her makeup before she left for work, but studying the results of her own efforts, she felt passable. No amount of foundation covered all of her freckles and she refused on the grounds of femininity to use a glamour spell for something so superficial, so the result was her face, with a hint of blush, smoky eye shadow, mascara and red lips. Her curls were pulled in a loose know near the nape of her neck – the only hairstyle Tonks, Ginny and Luna agreed on during Hermione's trial run – with several tendrils framing her face.

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked doubtfully. "I could pick up some Sleekeazy's."

Ginny shook her head, taking a handful of Hermione's curls to see what they looked like in a low ponytail. Cute, she thought, but not nearly sophisticated enough for the black dress. "You still think your hair is bushy," she said, her hands working to create a thick braid down Hermione's back. "Your hair stopped having a mind of its own sixth year."

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"All right, seventh year," Ginny amended. "It's more curls than frizz these days. Own it."

"Plus," Tonks added, a wicked grin on her face as she watched Ginny play hairdresser from her perch on Hermione's bed, "there might be a moment where you let your hair down and it falls wild around you. I guarantee it will bring Blaise to his knees."

"Men love that," Luna murmured, shifting slightly from her spot on the floor, not wanting to disturb the purring Crookshanks who had his head resting against the blond witch's knee. "It's very sexy librarian."

Hermione giggled, trying to picture Madame Pince as a seductress. The other witches had the same thought because soon all four were laughing.

"'Oh, Professor Flitwick, could I help you find something? Perhaps in the restricted section?'" Ginny cooed, setting them off on another round of hysterics, which only got worse when Tonks fell off the bed with a loud thunk.

"Everything all right up there?" Remus shouted from two floors below.

"We're fine!" Tonks yelled, pushing herself to a seated position. "So, hair up, yes?"

* * *

><p>"Who's all coming?" Sirius asked, watching as Remus enlarged a round coffee table to sit eight adult men comfortably.<p>

Eyes narrowed as he studied the results, Remus transfigured the two wingback chairs by the fireplace to resemble the chairs in the dining room. He'd make Harry and Ron carry the rest to the study. They were young men after all. They needed to learn magic wasn't necessary for everything.

"Moony?"

Looking up at his friend's frustrated growl, he studied Sirius, who was holding himself stiffly, as if he wanted to run, but didn't want anyone to know he wanted to run. Remus hadn't seen Sirius like that since third year and wondered what could have brought on Padfoot's defensive stance. Cocking his head to the side, Remus wondered if poker night was a good idea. Sirius seemed amendable when the twins suggested it, but he'd been off all day. Remus assumed it had something to do with Hermione, but maybe it wasn't jealousy. Sirius had only been back a few days; perhaps he didn't want to answer a lot of questions about where he was and why he left in the first place.

"Us, Harry, Ron, the twins, Kingsley, and Bill," he replied, noting Sirius' subtle relaxation of his shoulders. It was a good group. Everyone belonged to the Order, so they were comfortable around Sirius and he was comfortable with them. "Are you sure you're up for this?"

"Nervous, Moony?" Sirius smirked, pushing aside the small bubble of panic in his gut he refused to acknowledge. He was Sirius Black. He was the life of the party, not some nervous wallflower. If he was feeling anxious, it was only because he knew Hermione was upstairs, making herself gorgeous for a snake that didn't deserve her. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you lose your shirt the last time we played poker? Literally?"

Remus rolled his eyes. "We were drunk."

"Whatever makes you feel better," Sirius laughed, remembering James' lame attempt to prove fatherhood hadn't changed him. The party was small and much quieter than anything he'd hosted prior to Harry's birth, but Lily had threatened to curse whoever woke up the baby. Putting up the strongest silencing charms they could, Sirius, James, Remus and Peter – Sirius sneered at the memory of the traitorous rat – drank their way through a bottle of Ogden's while playing cards. When James realized he left the poker chips in his bedroom and refused to risk waking Lily to get them, the Marauders had changed the game to strip poker.

That was about the same time they started drinking the second bottle of firewhiskey.

"Don't expect a repeat, Padfoot," Remus warned his friend as he levitated the poker set from the shelf near the fireplace to the middle of the table.

"A repeat of what?" Harry asked as he walked in the room.

"Nothing," Remus said hurriedly, glaring at Sirius as if daring him to say anything. Considering the amount of dirt he had on his best friend, he felt secure that this story of humiliation would remain untold. For now.

Luckily, the fireplace turned green that moment, distracting Harry. Ron stepped out first, followed quickly by three of his older brothers, all who were talking loudly, their usual over-the-top antics relaxing Sirius more than the empathetic look Remus gave him just moments before. Grabbing Harry by his sleeve and gesturing for Ron to follow, he led his Godson and friend to the dining room, pushing a chair to each of them.

"We need six," he said, hoisting one in each hand and walking back to the study, missing the opening of Hermione's bedroom door and the sound of heels on the hardwood floor. Her descent down the stairs was not unnoticed by Harry and Ron, though; the latter staring at her, mouth wide open, as she approached them, an uncertain look on her face.

"Better not let Luna catch you eyeing her that way," Harry joked, nudging his friend in the arm.

"I think she'd understand," Ron replied, still not comprehending that the woman before him was Hermione. His Hermione. Harry's Hermione. Their Hermione. "Holy … you look amazing, Hermione."

She smiled nervously, Ron's admiration doing nothing to soothe her nerves. She fiddled with the medallion hanging from her neck. She'd charmed it to take the shape of a silver teardrop the width of her thumb. Matching earrings dangled from her ears and she carried a small black clutch, her wand safely tucked into the small pocket Tonks added to the dress.

"Fair warning – the twins are here. And Bill," Harry whispered, jerking his head down the hall.

"Damn," Hermione hissed, wondering why not for the millionth time why she didn't make arrangements to meet Blaise somewhere. "They're going to torture me."

"Probably," Ron said cheerfully. "But if it makes you feel better, Zabini's walking into the lion's den. At least your torture will end with suggestive comments and a little humiliation. His …"

He trailed off, picking up two chairs and maneuvering down the hall, secretly looking forward to Bill and the twins giving Zabini the riot act. Fred and George were fond of Hermione – everyone knew that – while Bill considered her another sister. Add the werewolf, the Animagus and Minister for Magic to the mix, and it saved him and Harry from Hermione's fury. He loved her, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't the tiniest bit afraid of her.

"Come on," Harry said, following Ron's lead and snatching two chairs from the table. "The sooner you go in there, the sooner they can say what they're going to say. They just might get it out of their system before Zabini gets here."

"Miracles have happened," she muttered, following Harry down the hall to the sounds of deep voices and laughter. She smiled at Sirius' familiar bark of amusement, pleased he seemed to be having fun. There was no time to socialize after his escape from Azkaban, the nature of his breakout forcing him to hide from aurors. After his name was cleared, he became a target for the Death Eaters, everyone wanting to be the one to present the body of the blood traitor to Voldemort, forcing him to remain at Grimmauld Place for his own protection.

Hermione stumbled, realizing tonight was likely the first time Sirius could relax and enjoy himself with his friends since before Harry's parents were murdered. She felt the urge to owl Blaise, the cancel their date so she could keep an eye on Sirius, perhaps run interference if he looked uncomfortable.

"Whoa! Granger danger!" George smiled at the petite brunette glaring at him, taking in her death stare as he casually leaned against the wall, crossing his feet at the ankles, folding his arms over his chest as he gave her a once over similar to his brother's the other night. "You know, I thought Fred was exaggerating when he told me how stunning you looked, but now it's obvious the man needs his vision checked. You, my love, are exquisite."

She laughed and took the arm he offered, allowing him to lead her to the study, where most of the men in her life her in varying stances of casualness, trying to look like they weren't waiting for something to happen.

"Could you be more obvious?" Hermione grumbled, taking in the scene before her. Bill was sitting at the table, an untouched drink in front of him, shuffling the deck of cards with his wand. Harry and Ron were standing by the fireplace, Ron shifting every so often to a different position. Remus was talking to Fred near the couch. Only Sirius looked somewhat relaxed, smoking a cigarette near the open window when she felt the shift in the wards, followed by the sound of the doorbell.

"Stay here!" Hermione shouted to the room at large, spinning on her heel. She wasn't fast enough. Two loud cracks echoed in the room and the Marauders were no longer there. Hermione sighed. She really needed to talk to Sirius about Grimmauld Place's wards. She and Harry lived there; they should be allowed to apparate inside the house, too. Rushing down the stairs to the main floor, she stopped when she heard Kingsley's familiar laugh.

"Give the boy a break," he said, his voice getting louder as he walked down the hall. "If anyone can handle herself against a Slytherin, it's our –"

Kingsley stopped and stared at the witch standing at the bottom of the stairs. Suddenly, the domineering stance Sirius and Remus had when they opened the door made sense. In fact, he was considering joining them when the bell rang again. Moving on instinct, he held out his arm, stopping Hermione from rushing past him.

"Let them go, little one," he advised, wishing he had a front row seat to the carefully-veiled threats he was sure the men would use. Sadly, though, his political career demanded he refrain from violence, even in an entertaining fashion. Taking Hermione's hand, he led her back up the stairs, tugging firmly when she fought him.

"Kingsley," she warned in a low voice.

"Hermione," he replied, his tone echoing hers. "You know there's no way they'll let you out the door before they prove how many people are ready to jump to your defense, should you need it. And," he added, as she opened her mouth to protest, "we recognize that our protection is unnecessary, but being the considerate person I know you to be, you understand that this charade is more for our benefit than yours and will let it continue."

She glared at him, hating his logic. Knowing he won, but smart enough not to gloat, he gave her hand another tug and led her to the study. She flopped on the couch next to Fred, ignoring his attempts to make her laugh while waiting for Sirius and Remus to finish greeting her date.

* * *

><p>Sirius opened the door with a glower on his face, his expression changing to a self-satisfied sneer when his actions caught Blaise unaware. The uptight purebred probably expected a house elf to answer the door. Too bad Kreacher now served the staff at Hogwarts. "Mr. Zabini," he drawled. "Please come it."<p>

The young wizard recovered quickly, stepping inside, nodding politely to Sirius before noticing Remus. "Hello, professor," the dark-skinned Slytherin said smoothly.

"Mr. Zabini. It's nice to see you again," Remus replied, ignoring Sirius' huff of impatience. "How is your mother?"

"Currently single, which both excites and terrifies the wizard population," Blaise replied, his eyes sparkling with amusement. His mothers' multiple husbands were legendary in their world. Divorce wasn't common amongst wizards and witches, so when Callania Zabini tired of her current spouse, he met with a mysterious accident.

"Hermione is in the study," Remus told him, turning to walk down the hall. "If you'll follow me, I'll take you there."

Blaise moved to do just that, but a hard hand on his arm stopped him. Remus kept walking like he was unaware his best friend had a death grip on the Italian wizard's arm, trusting that Sirius had enough control to say what he needed to say without causing permanent damage.

"Mr. Black." Blaise's expression gave away nothing as he regarded the man who was used as an example for young witches and wizards who expressed interest in non-pureblood beliefs. He knew the man glaring at him wasn't the mass murderer _The Daily Prophet _made him out to be, but he was the sole heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Black, a prestigious designation that couldn't be denied.

The Black family was once revered for their Dark Magic. Blaise knew Sirius had turned his back on that, his final act of rebellion leading to his being blasted from the family tree. He could appreciate the symmetry that the renounced son now controlled everything he refuted. Neither he nor his mother ever felt the need to align with Voldemort and his Death Eaters, but that didn't mean they were on the side of half-bloods and Muggle-borns, either. They were a selfish pair, interested in little more than wealth and having a good time. Now that the war was over, Blaise planned on making up for lost time, starting with the witch that fascinated him for years.

"I'm only going to say this once," Sirius said, leaning close, pushing away the small bit of admiration he felt when Blaise didn't move. "Do anything that hurts Hermione and they'll never find your body. Understand?"

"I understand."

Stepping back, Sirius wished fleetingly for an excuse to plow his fist in the perfect face of Blaise Zabini, but the rational part of him knew doing that would damage his delicate relationship with Hermione. Maturity was overrated, he decided, moving past Zabini to walk to the staircase, nodding at Remus who was waiting near the top.

"All right, Padfoot?" he murmured.

"For now."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I couldn't resist the "hex his balls off" reference. If you've read ****_Get Busy Living_****, you know the speech. Or rather, the existence of it. **


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: A month or so ago I read a great Hermione/Snape story that took place during her 7****th ****year. Essentially, she loves him and because of this, he slowly heals and it ends … well, I don't want to give it away, but there's a dance, Snape gets jealous, threatens a drunk student hitting on Hermione, Minerva intervenes, etc. Does this sound familiar to anyone? Let me know if it does!**

**Hugs and kisses to all who have commented! Your kind words mean a lot and help push through when writers block strikes.**

**Now on to the actual date and some guy talk. **

**Legalities: I do not own Harry Potter. These characters belong to J.K. Rowling and Scholastic, Inc.**

* * *

><p>Hermione closed the door, letting out her breath at the quiet click. Turning to Blaise, she smiled at him; her first real smile of the night.<p>

"I'm so sorry. My friends …" she trailed off, waving her arm at the door behind her with an exasperated expression on her face. "They think they're helping."

"Aren't they?" Blaise was intrigued; never had he been on the receiving end of so many death threats in one night. Sirius Black may have been the only one who outright threatened him, but the looks he received from the other men in the room spoke volumes. No wonder no one was ever brave enough to ask Hermione out when they were at Hogwarts.

Hermione rolled her eyes, though the smile on her face was indulgent. "I guess that depends on you, doesn't it? I'm sure at least one of them promised bodily harm should you step out of bounds."

Blaise hummed non-committedly, holding his arm out to Hermione, who took it gratefully, the pair walking down the front steps to the apparition point around the corner. Overall, he was pleased with his behavior at Grimmauld Place. A true Slytherin, he wore an amused expression as he greeted each man, though he was grateful that his recent decision to bankroll Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' expansion assured him two allies.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked as Blaise pulled her closer in preparation for a side-along apparition. She hoped he didn't plan on hopping from place to place. She had a trace of a headache while she was getting ready. Blaming it on nerves, she swallowed a pain potion and a motion sickness potion as a cautionary tactic.

Blaise's smile was sly. "I think you'll be pleased," he promised seconds before she felt the familiar tug in the center of her stomach.

Opening her eyes, Hermione expected to find herself in Diagon Alley, not a darkened street in the middle of nowhere. She turned to ask Blaise where they were, but he was watching her with a serious look on his face. Slowly, he brought his free hand up to lightly caress her cheek with the back of his knuckles, his ghost of a touch affecting Hermione more than if he'd pushed her against the wall and snogged her senseless. "You look amazing, Hermione. I apologize for not saying it sooner, but," he smiled wryly, "we had an audience. I feared any compliment I gave you would be taken the wrong way."

Hermione wanted to chuckle at the accuracy of his statement, but she momentarily lost the ability to breathe as she stared into Blaise's eyes. She felt him take one of her curls between two fingers, slowly tracing it down to where it rested just below her bare shoulder before tracing the same hand down her arm before linking his fingers with hers.

Oh Circe, she was out of her element with him.

"We better go," he whispered, his eyes darkening as his gaze settled on her lips. "We have a dinner reservation."

She could only nod, grateful when they were suddenly on a brightly-lit street, the noise of bustling London pulling her from her trance.

"We're going to a Muggle restaurant?" Hermione didn't peg Blaise as someone who willingly frequented non-wizard establishments.

"Surprised?"

"Yes, actually."

"Good," he smirked. "I like keeping you on your toes."

* * *

><p>Sirius took another sip of his firewhiskey, the alcohol doing nothing to ease the tension in his shoulders. He shouldn't have looked at her. He heard her enter the study before Blaise arrived, but forced his eyes to remain on the darkening sky outside the window, not wanting another image of Hermione in that excuse of fabric she called a dress. His plan was simple. Allow Blaise Zabini to enter his home, threaten his life, and then busy himself elsewhere while the others did their part of make the snake regret the day he asked out Hermione Granger. He stood outside the study, waiting for someone to give Blaise the speech. Instead, though, the twins had greeted him like a friend. Harry and Ron were quiet, while Kingsley took the political route and spoke of safe topics that wouldn't offend anyone. Even the werewolves – well, Bill wasn't really a werewolf, but he wasn't someone you wanted to cross near the full moon – were civil. Sirius wouldn't go so far to call it a gathering of friends, but the lack of intimidation was appalling. He stomped in, determined to make things right, but couldn't only gape as he came upon the vision that was Hermione.<p>

She was … he didn't have the words. He watched as she stood by Zabini, drinking in the beauty of her like a man dying of thirst. If possible, the dress had become more dangerous, black lace clinging to the curves he remembered pressed against him as she slept. Her hair, the same hair that once tickled his nose, was twisted in a style at the nape of her neck, begging for a man's fingers to dive in and never let go. And her legs … Remus glanced at him sharply at the low growl in his throat. Hermione was a tiny thing, barely reaching Zabini's chin in heels that made Sirius picture a dark room, low voices and long kisses.

"Sirius?"

"What?" he snapped at Harry.

"It's your bet."

He looked at his cards; they were shit, but he tossed in a few chips to divert the table's attention elsewhere, not even caring when Bill raked in the pot minutes later, his brothers groaning their displeasure at his triumphant laugh.

"Let's take a break," Remus announced, pushing his chair back without waiting for the others to agree. Grabbing Sirius by the collar of his shirt, Remus dragged him out of the study.

"What the fuck, Moony?" he snarled, pushing away from his friend.

"What the fuck, Padfoot?" Remus responded through gritted teeth. "You want to explain to me why you're dragging everyone down?"

"What? I can't have an off night? I have to be fucking Sirius Black, playboy rich boy without a care in the world 24/7? I apologize, professor, for forgetting my place. I'll be sure to consume a bottle of firewhiskey and shag some random bird before the night's over, all right?"

Remus eyed his friend cautiously. "No one is saying you need to live up to your reputation, Sirius," he said quietly. "People change. You've changed."

He laughed bitterly, raking a hand through his hair. "Have I, Moony? Have I really?"

Remus had no idea what Sirius was talking about, but before he could ask, Harry interrupted the two Marauders, asking if they wanted anything from the kitchen. Not wanting to give Remus the opportunity to dive into his psyche, Sirius walked with Harry to the kitchen, smiling at the wrapped plates of food Hermione had left from them.

"She didn't cook anything?" he asked, skeptically peeking inside a covered container.

Harry snorted at the thought, piling a selection of sandwiches on a platter. "She knows her limitations."

Levitating trays of sandwiches, drinks and sweets, Harry walked out of the kitchen, Sirius behind him when Ron intercepted.

"We'll catch up," the redhead told Harry.

"We will?" Sirius asked.

Ron nodded, taking a seat at the table, gesturing for Sirius to do the same. Curious, the dark-haired wizard did so without thinking. In all the years he'd known Ron, he considered the boy a follower. Harry was the leader, Hermione the brains and Ron the sidekick. It wasn't a bad thing, per se, but now that Ron was watching him, a measured expression on his face, Sirius wondered if he got it wrong.

"I'm just going to say it, all right?" Ron started without waiting for Sirius to answer. "Let her go."

Sirius eyed him speculatively. "Let who go?"

"Don't play stupid."

Sirius leaned back in his seat, one hand going to his pocket for his cigarettes automatically. "What do you know?"

Ron snorted. "More than I care to."

He took a long drag, blowing the smoke out slowly before he felt calm enough to speak again. "Enlighten me."

"Everything," he shrugged. "She thinks she loves you. She told you as much and you bailed."

"Wait – she _thinks_?"

"No, she said she loves you, I added 'thinks.' I mean, in all the years we've known you, you've barely talked to her. Even now, you live in the same house, and it's like you go out of your way to avoid her. Of course, it could be a self-preservation-sort-of-thing, which I get, but she's one of my best friends and deserves more than that, so I'm telling you, if you can't be the man she thinks you are, let her go."

Sirius was flabbergasted. Not at Ron's speech. Remus basically said the same thing the other night. But if he was ever going to get the talk from one of Hermione's friends, he expected it to be Harry. Or Ginny.

Ron smirked. "I know what you're thinking. Why me, right?" He shrugged his shoulders good-naturedly. "I don't understand it, either, mate. For some strange reason, I'm her confidant."

"Does she know you're talking to me?"

Ron leaned back in his seat. "Like right now? No. But she probably knows this would happen eventually. The girl knows everything. It's annoying, honestly."

Sirius finished his cigarette. He contemplated having another, but he didn't want a reason to drag out the conversation. How many people were aware of what happened between him and Hermione? What they hell did they want from him?

"Do you think she likes Zabini?" It was something that had been bothering him for days.

Ron shrugged. "I think she likes the idea of him, the thought of someone pursuing her. That's never really happened before. There was the dance with Krum fourth year, but that wasn't exactly a date."

He stood up, going over to the counter to take one of the sandwiches Harry left behind. Taking a large bite, he leaned against the counter, chewing thoughtfully. "Hermione hasn't had a chance to just enjoy life, you know? None of us have when you think about it. We didn't get to be regular students. Harry's life was always in danger and we were jumping right into it with him. Now that it's over …"

Ron walked back to the table, taking his seat with a plop. "Look, she said she loves you. You told her you don't feel the same. She's not going to hold that against you. She's not that kind of person. Look at me! I've lost count the number of times I've made her mad and she still loves me. The fact of the matter is she's in your life and tied to it in a way that won't end anytime soon, so be her friend. But -" he held up his hand when Sirius opened his mouth, "that means you can't be the guy waiting in the wings. You had your chance. You had a couple of chances, actually. She not going to keep throwing herself at you, so stop being a jealous prat. Harry and I won't be around as much soon; she's going to need someone."

Sirius ran his fingers through his hair. He felt a headache brewing behind his eyes. This was too much talking for a night that was supposed to be alcohol, cards and maybe some slight exaggerations about dating adventures.

"Sorry to drag you down, mate, but the way I see it, you could use a friend, too. Who knows? Maybe the two of you could do a bunch of dumb things together." He paused and glared at Sirius. "Within reason."

"Oi!" Fred's voice came booming into the kitchen from the study, the _Sonorus _charm echoing off the walls. "Are you blokes going play cards or what?"

"Are we good?" Ron asked.

Sirius nodded, still trying to take in everything.

"All right then." Ron turned and left the kitchen, yelling at his brother to keep his damn shirt on.

* * *

><p>"I can't eat another bite," Hermione confessed, pushing away her plate of shrimp curry, shaking her head when Blaise offered her a bite of his mango chicken. The little Indian restaurant was tucked between bigger and brighter restaurants, the worn carpet and faded walls painting it a dive, but the food … Hermione lost count of how many times she moaned in delight. "How did you find this place?"<p>

Blaise wiped his mouth, folding the pale orange cloth in two before laying it on top of his plate. "You don't expect me to give away all my secrets the first date, to you?"

Hermione cocked her head, a small smile on her lips at his words. First date implied there may be a second.

She watched as Blaise signed the check, the familiarity at which he conversed with the elderly Indian woman testament to how often he dined there. The tiny woman pet his cheek fondly before smiling at Hermione, saying something she didn't understand. Blaise simply laughed and tucked her arm through his, leading her outside.

"What did she say?"

"That you should thank your lucky stars to be out with me."

She laughed out loud. "You sell that so well, I'm inclined to believe you."

He smiled, leaning forward to brush her lips lightly with his. "Why wouldn't you?"

* * *

><p>The study was filled with smoke, the sound of male laughter bouncing off the walls as George finished telling the story of his brother's ill-timed dalliance with Katie Bell in an empty Charms classroom. As the amount of alcohol in the bottles on the oak sideboard decreased, the penchant for embarrassing tales grew. Sirius had learned more about his Godson's love life than he ever wanted to know, but there was a certain serendipity to the face that both Potters – Harry and his father – found it necessary to snog a bird in the Potions classroom, though for the sake of Harry's memories of his parents, and the swift kick from Remus under the table, he edited the details.<p>

"Hey, is that Pig?" Harry asked Ron.

Sirius looked over at the small owl fluttering outside the window. Seconds later, it was open and the excitable bird careened around the room three times before dropping a parchment on the table. The twins grabbed it excitedly.

"What's that?" Ron asked, tearing off part of his sandwich for his owl, snatching his fingers away before Pig could nip them.

"Message from Seamus. Hermione and Blaise aren't at his restaurant," George replied, his brow furrowed as he read the parchment.

"Do you have people spying on her?" Kingsley asked, his usual cheerful face disapproving as he looked at the twins.

Fred considered the question. They didn't have spies, really; just a few people stationed in various locations throughout Diagon Alley. "We have friends who are enjoying the nightlife," he replied, winking at his brother.

"If they happen to come across Hermione and Zabini, well, it's a small world, isn't it?" George added.

* * *

><p>Hermione was thinking the same thing as she and Blaise approached Siren's Song in Central London.<p>

"Hermione!"

Hermione laughed at Blaise's shocked face as the oversized black man standing at the door pulled her into a hug, lifting her several inches off the ground.

"Isaac," she smiled, squeezing his hands after he set her down. "It's always great to see you. How's Melinda?"

"She must be crazy because she's still with me," he laughed, ignoring the queue of impatient people as he smiled at the curly-haired girl. He gave a brief once-over to the man she was with – tall, well-dressed, obviously confident – and wondered if he knew what he was getting into with Hermione. "Are you going in?"

"If it's all right with you," she told the bouncer.

"As if you had to ask," he replied, undoing the velvet rope that blocked the entrance, ignoring the groans of the people behind him. "Be good!"

Taking Blaise's hand in hers, Hermione tugged him into the club, the pair making their way through the dark maze that opened to a silver room with lights bouncing off the shimmering walls, the music playing so loud they could feel the vibrations on the floor. She gestured to the bar, but Blaise shook his head and pointed to the dance floor. Nodding in agreement, Hermione led him to the middle, happy to link her hands behind his neck as he settled his hands on her waist.

"How?" he asked, his breath warm on her ear as he leaned close to request an answer to the question he'd been dying to since her reunion with the oversized bouncer.

"This summer," she yelled back. "Remus' wife knows his family!"

"Wizard?"

"Not Isaac."

Blaise wanted to know more, but then Hermione twisted in his arms, her back to his front, and suddenly all that mattered was pulling her closer. He did, his arms encircling her as she brought one arm up to loop around his neck. They swayed to the music, unaware of the people around them, including three pairs of eyes watching from the balcony.

"Is that Zabini?"

"Looks like."

"Who's he with?"

"No idea."

They peered closer, the lights of the club making it difficult to see the girl's face, though none of them missed Zabini trailing his lips along her neck.

"Classic move right there."

"You know he'll kill us for interrupting."

"Indeed."

The smirks that followed were nearly identical.

Hermione sighed as she tilted her neck, giving Blaise better access. The dance floor was crowded, almost uncomfortably so, but she didn't want to move. He felt so good pressed against her, strong as she leaned against him, his arms keeping her close as his tongue licked her pulse point.

"Zabini!"

She heard the voice distantly; felt his annoyed growl in return, but ignored it. The voice, however, had other plans.

"Zabini!" A large hand fell on his shoulder, stopping the pair's movement. "We thought that was you. Who's the lucky witch – Granger?!"

Hermione turned and stepped out of Blaise's arms. "Malfoy."

The blond stared at the pair, mouth agape as he took in the witch that was a pain in his ass for years. Hermione smirked, her enjoyment at annoying Malfoy overriding her annoyance of the interruption.

"Hey, if we're going to stand around staring at each other, let's get a drink, yeah?" Blaise suggested, taking Hermione's hand as they left the dance floor, knowing Draco's insatiable curiosity would have the blond following them.

"We've got a room," Draco told the couple, gesturing to the VIP spaces on the club's second floor. "Private waitress. She'll get you what you want."

Blaise turned to Hermione. "Sound all right, love?"

Hermione wanted to say no. She had no idea who Draco meant when he said "we," but the knowing sneer on his face forced her hand. She'd be damned if she let Draco see her nerves. "Of course."

Draco led the way to the glass staircase, Hermione following him with Blaise at her back. The VIP rooms were equipped with two-way glass, the mirrors reflecting the lights and movement of the dance floor, giving those inside an uninterrupted view of the action as they enjoyed their privacy. Approaching the second door on his left, Draco opened it, gesturing for Hermione and Blaise to enter first.

Hermione flashed back to Harry's comment earlier that evening about Blaise entering the lion's den. Looking around the room at the wizards lounging on the U-shaped silver couch, several drinks on the glass table in front of them, Hermione realized she entered the snake pit.

"Gentlemen," Blaise greeted his friends, sliding his arm around Hermione's waist as she held herself stiffly, purely out of her element. "You all know Hermione Granger. Hermione, that's –"

"I know who everyone is," she said in a strong voice, having found her Gryffindor courage – and her pride. Walking forward, she held her hand out to the first wizard who stood to greet her. "Theo."

Theo Nott smiled, taking Hermione's hand in his, kissing her lightly on the knuckles. "Hermione. It's great to see you."

Adrian Pucey stood up next, reaching around Theo to shake Hermione's hand. He was a third year student when Hermione started Hogwarts. She didn't know much about him except for the fact that he had played Quidditch and made most of the girls in his year swoon. Looking into his handsome face, she had to agree with their estimation.

Marcus Flint was four years older than Hermione, but she remembered him. He was present the first time Malfoy had called her 'Mudblood;' an insult that lost its bite as time passed, but she still recalled the hurt she felt that day. Unconsciously rubbing her arm where Bellatrix Lestrange had carved the slur into her arm, Hermione waved to the silent wizard, turning to Blaise for help.

"Shove over, Nott," Blaise ordered, taking his friend's seat and pulled Hermione next to him. A minute later, a drink was in her hand. Looking at Marcus with raised brows, he held his own glass in a silent toast and drank. Following his lead, she took a sip, the vodka and lemon sliding smoothly down her throat.

"Hermione Granger," Adrian mused, leaning back, one arm going up to rest on the back of the couch as he studied her. "The years have been kind to you."

She laughed. "I'd return the compliment, Adrian, but I don't think there's enough space in this room for your ego to get bigger than it already is."

Theo and Draco laughed, the thinly-veiled insult reminding them of the know-it-all witch who always got the upper hand in a battle of insults. Adrian, to his credit, didn't look affronted. Instead, he smiled slightly, his eyes never leaving hers as he took a sip from the beer dangling between his two fingers.

"So you and Blaise," Draco drawled, leaning back as he studied the couple. "Did you have to sneak past her bodyguards?"

Blaise chuckled, taking Hermione's hand in his and bringing it to his lips for a kiss. He was pissed at his friends for interrupting his date, but he did enjoy showing off the witch most of them had, at one point or another, desired. "No need for that," he murmured. "I went to her home like the gentleman I am."

Hermione leaned closer, placing a kiss on Blaise's cheek. "You were very brave," she murmured.

"Where's home?" Marcus asked.

"Not far," Hermione replied, taking another sip of her drink. "I share a house with Harry, Remus and Nymphadora Lupin, and Sirius Black."

Adrian's eyebrows shot up. "You willingly walked into a house with that many Gryffindors? You are a brave man, Zabini."

"You have no idea," he replied.

The conversation shifted after that, the four wizards talking about people Hermione only knew in passing. Rather than feel left out, she relaxed, sipping her drink as she watched how the Slytherins interacted with each other, a mix of inside jokes, insults, threats, and teasing.

"I heard you aren't going back to Hogwarts," Theo said suddenly, drawing Hermione back in to the mix. "No desire to set a N.E.W.T. record?"

She laughed, flashing back to how crazy she went during their O.W.L.s. Theo was one of the smartest students in their year, the two of them often competing for top grades in their classes.

"No, I'm not going back, but I am taking my N.E.W.T.s in the spring. You?"

"I took mine this summer, did well enough to get into the Wizarding University in France."

Draco snorted and finished his drink. "He's run out of birds here to shag, so he's invading another country."

"You're just jealous you didn't think of it first," Theo shot back.

"What about you, Malfoy?" Hermione studied the wizard. She knew his parents managed to avoid Azkaban, his mother's decision to lie to Voldemort about Harry essentially saving their lives. Harry spoke in their defense during their trial, linking their actions to the innate need to keep their only child safe.

"Didn't Blaise tell you?" he asked.

Hermione turned toward her date. "Tell me what?"

"We're going Muggle," Draco announced.

She choked on her drink. "I'm sorry; what?"

Blaise laughed, catching a drop of liquid from Hermione's lips and bringing it to his own. "What he means is we're looking into bringing aspects of the Muggle world to ours, namely entertainment facets."

"Diagon Alley is expanding, but it doesn't have much nightlife; at least, not a nightlife proper witches and wizards can enjoy," Draco explained, glossing over the questionable activities that took place in Knockturn Alley.

"So you want there to be more restaurants?"

"Restaurants. Night clubs. Coffee houses. For so long, we were stuck in our homes, worried that stepping outside the door was an invitation to be attacked," Blaise enlightened. "There's no reason to hide anymore."

Hermione listened to his ideas with interest. It was close to what Harry mentioned earlier that night about charming a television to work at Grimmauld Place. So much of their childhood had been about survival – on both sides, it seemed – that the nights were filled with empty hours to fill. Why shouldn't they enjoy being young?

"Are you here tonight to gather ideas?" she asked, feeling disappointed that the evening had an ulterior motive.

"I assume they are," Blaise said, gesturing to the others in the room. Wrapping his hand around her neck, he pulled her close so he could whisper in her ear. "I brought you here so I would have an excuse to put my hands on you."

She smiled slowly. "It would seem your business partner ruined that."

"I plan to kill him tomorrow."

"You do know I'm right here, yes?" Draco interrupted.

"Unfortunately," Blaise drawled.

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><p><strong>AN: Oh no. I'm starting to like Blaise. **


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: A big thank you to meldz and Leafy for letting me know that the story I asked about last chapter was ****_Out of the Depths_**** by Laurielove. It's a great Hermione and Snape story. If you haven't read it, you should. You should also be reading shealone's ****_The Debt of Time_****. It is amazing! She'll make you laugh and cry and fall in love.**

**Speaking of love, we have some Team Blaise fans who feel bad about it because we should all be Team Sirius. I still feel guilty for not having Hermione with Remus. If you could hear the conversations in my head … **

**Legalities: I do not own Harry Potter. These characters belong to J.K. Rowling and Scholastic, Inc.**

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><p>Sirius slumped at the kitchen table, one hand grasping a mug of tea while the other rubbed his tired eyes. He'd seen his fair share of sunrises after a late night in his nearly 39 years, but he usually had the benefit of being drunk or in the company of a warm female body. Being alone with his thoughts in the quiet dawn of a new day was torture.<p>

He wasn't hungover. He barely drank last night, having one tumbler of firewhiskey early in the evening to ease his nerves. The second was a shield of sorts. He didn't want it, but he also didn't want anyone asking why he wasn't drinking. Instead, he kept the glass close, bringing it to his lips every so often, carrying it with him to the sidebar as if he was going to pour himself another. It worked. He pushed away from the table around 2 a.m. as sober as he was when he first took his seat, but when he got to his room, sleep refused to come.

He stayed in his bed, listening to the laughter of Harry with Ron and the twins. He heard Tonks get home, and the quiet murmur of Remus' voice as he and his wife walked to their bedroom. It was just after 3 a.m. when the wards shifted, announcing Hermione's arrival. He listened as she entered the study, imagined she shook her head in exasperation at the mess left behind – he saw it for himself this morning and was impressed that she didn't scream everyone awake in frustration – and went to her bedroom. Alone. He refused to acknowledge the relief he felt when the quiet click of her door signaled the end of her evening.

Was he being unfair to Hermione, rejecting her in one breath and damning her the next? He snorted, taking another sip of his lukewarm tea. Whoever said life was fair? Look at him – raised by two people who used fear and physical violence to curtail their sons' behavior, blasting one from the family tree and signing the other's death warrant when they forced him to take the Dark Mark. Fate smiled on him briefly when James Potter entered his life. For a few years, he knew what it was like to have a family that loved him, that would always love him no matter what shit he pulled – and he did a lot. He spent years bushing boundaries, convinced that eventually he'd go too far, forcing Charlus and Dorea Potter to toss him on the street with the filth where he belonged, but they never gave up on him. They died believing him to be a good boy, a good man. What would they think of him now? What would James think? Lily? Did they forgive him for not being there for Harry? Were his efforts in the final battle enough absolution? Did it even matter? Even if they were here, at this table, with words of forgiveness, he wouldn't take it.

Remus not only forgave him, he asked Sirius to forgive him for not having faith in him. Sirius did the latter easily and the former … Remus had nothing to forgive Sirius for. Moony was loyal. If anyone understood the need for family, the need for friends, better than him, it was Remus. Everything got so crazy, so fucking confusing! What was down was up, left was right. He couldn't remember who to trust, who not to trust. He lost his way. But he understood the werewolf's need for clemency, so he accepted his forgiveness, adding it to his internal list of things he doesn't deserve.

Harry was on that list, near the top. Merlin, how he loved that boy. From the moment he entered the world, Sirius was there, sometimes pushing aside Lily and James to get to him first. He would have been a good father. Or rather, he would have tried to be a good father, relying on Remus to fill in the blanks where needed. Years in Azkaban, reliving every miserable mistake of his life, Sirius struggled to maintain a piece of humanity, one little nugget of good so the darkness wouldn't completely engulf him: Harry. Harry didn't blame him for the past; not once, not ever. He said he understood; that there were circumstances beyond his control. He glossed over the abuse he suffered at the Dursleys, instead speaking of the love and support he received from Arthur and Molly Weasley, Ron, and Hermione. Sirius wasn't stupid. He saw the parallels between his life and his Godson's; two lost boys taken in by another family, given a chance to live the life all children should have.

But he wasn't a child anymore. Harry was a man, a soldier. He did what the prophecy proclaimed all those years ago and defeated Lord Voldemort. How he managed to accomplish that without letting fear and doubt drag him down, without the triumph of victory going to his head was unheard of, or maybe it wasn't. Harry had friends. He had Hermione. She was there for him when Sirius wasn't, when Remus wasn't. She shielded Harry all those years ago in the Shrieking Shack. She kept him safe. She kept him grounded. She calmed him, comforted him. Sirius would never jeopardize the relationships that saved Harry. He couldn't take that chance. He wouldn't. She was an innocent. Despite the horrors she'd seen, the abuse she'd suffered, the losses and the pain, she was unsullied. She was extremely stubborn and too smart for her own good, but she was good and deserved every delight the world had to offer. Friends. Career. Success. Love. Marriage. Family. He wouldn't begrudge her happiness, inhibit her growth. She'd saved Harry. She'd saved Remus. Hell, she saved him by taking that curse at the Department of Mysteries. For that alone, he owed her everything.

Be her friend, Ron said. There was a time that Sirius Black treated true friendship like the treasure it was. He would have died for James and Remus. He'd still die for Remus and for Harry. He'd die for her, too, though she'd never let him.

Picking up his mug, Sirius drained the dredges of his tea, smirking at the memory of Hermione screeching at him for nearly getting himself killed. She was kneeling on her bed in Hogwarts' infirmary, the scar of Dolohov's curse still raw, shouting at him for his recklessness, ignoring Harry's grip on her hand as he tried to make her lay down.

"By the gods, if you ever do something so stupid again, Sirius Black, I will end your life myself, then bring you back so I can do it again!" she screamed, ignoring the gasps of the others in the room. "Harry needs you and you damn well won't leave him!"

"Bossy swat," he grumbled affectionately.

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><p>Hermione woke to the sound of purring in her ear, a fur-covered paw poking her in the eye. She groaned and tried to roll away from her cat, but the hard body next to her made it impossible. Opening her eyes slowly, she sighed at the sight of Harry sprawled on his stomach, wearing only a pair of mesh shorts, mouth half open as he snored lightly, one of his hands tangled in her hair.<p>

"Harry," she hissed, poking him lightly in his side.

"Hmmpf."

"Harry."

No response.

Grinning, she ran her fingers lightly down his side.

"Holy Merlin's nuts!" he shouted, leaping out of the bed, taking most of the covers and a few strands of her hair with him. Wrapping his arms protectively around his bare torso, he glared at the witch snickering in her bed. "That's not fair! We talked about this; tickling someone when they're asleep is inexcusable!"

Hermione couldn't stop laughing, even as she scooted over so Harry could crawl back in bed, grumbling under his breath as he straightened her bed sheets. "How in world are you going to be an auror, Harry, when you collapse anytime someone touches you like this?"

He batted her hand away before she could touch him. "Like that," he smirked.

She shook her head, but when Harry opened his arms, she snuggled next to him willingly, laying her head on his chest. "Are you going to tell me why you're in my bed?" she asked, tiptoeing her fingers across his abdomen, giggling when he clasped her hand in his and holding tight in case she got the urge to tickle him again.

"Dream."

"I'm sorry," she sobered immediately, her heart aching for her friend and the nightmares that plagued him. They all had them: Harry, Ron, Remus, Sirius, Hermione. It would be impossible to survive the hell they lived and not have residual fear resting in their subconscious mind. Ron woke in a cold sweat anytime he dreamt the shielding spell that saved Luna from Rodolphus Lestrange's Killing Curse didn't hold. Sirius paced the hallways of Grimmauld Place whenever nightmares of Azkaban kept him from sleep. Remus dreamed of losing his wife. Harry relived dying again and again, and Hermione felt the pain of Bellatrix's _Cruciatus_ tear into her body more nights than she wanted to admit.

"Not me," Harry replied, pulling Hermione closer. "You."

She pushed herself up to a sitting position. It had been a few weeks since her screams had Harry running into her bedroom. The dreams hadn't ended, but she was getting better at waking herself up before crying out for help. "Did I yell?" she asked.

"You were crying," Harry said, bushing her curls away from her face and kissing her on her forehead, the gesture so much like the kisses she used to get from her father. It was comforting and heartbreaking at the same time. "You wanted your mum."

Hermione looked down, her fingers toying with a loose thread on the sheet. She didn't remember her dream and she was glad for it. She'd rather deal with the horrors of Bellatrix Lestrange than suffer the heartache of her lost parents.

"How did you know?" she asked. She kept her door to their bathroom partially open, as did Harry, so they could be there for each other in the middle of the night, but it sounded like the noise she made was too faint for him to hear.

Harry leaned over to pet Crookshanks, who was curled up on Hermione's pillow, watching the two of them with interest. "Your cat got me."

"Oh, Crooksie," Hermione murmured, picking up her oversized orange fluff of a familiar and nuzzling the top of his head with her nose. What would she do without her half-Kneazle?

"Are you going to be all right, Hermione? When I'm gone, will you be OK?"

Hermione smiled at Harry, his green eyes stilly blurry with sleep but concerned as he gazed at her. "I'm fine," she assured him. "Once I begin revising for the N.E.W.T.s and working at the Ministry, I'll be too exhausted to dream. And I won't be alone. I have Tonks and Remus."

"And Sirius."

"Right. Sirius."

"And Blaise," Harry leered, moving so his back was against the headboard, a mischievous grin on his face. "How was last night?"

Hermione smiled, her face lighting up as she remembered how his body felt pressed close to hers on the dance floor, the way he brushed his fingers against hers when she fed him a bite of her food, taking the shrimp directly from her fork, his eyes never leaving hers, as he slowly chewed. The way those same fingers drew lazy circles higher and higher on her thigh as they kissed in a private room at Siren's Song, his lips trailing down her neck while her hands gripped his shoulders, fighting the urge to remove his gray shirt from his body. That wasn't like her, but then nothing of that evening had been. She sat with Slytherins, sharing stories of their years at Hogwarts as if they'd been friends, not enemies. She had danced with Adrian and allowed Marcus to buy her a drink. When Blaise put his arm around her, moving close so he could whisper in her ear the things he wanted to do to her, with her, she hadn't blushed and turned away, but instead twisted her head so she could kiss him, not caring that the others were in the room. Blaise did, though, breaking away only to order them out, locking the door behind them.

"How long will they be gone?" she asked, loving the predatory gleam in his eye as he walked back to her.

"Not long enough," he muttered before he pulled her on to his lap.

It seemed like no time had passed before they were knocking on the door, growing louder and more insistent the longer Blaise and Hermione ignored them until she pushed him away, taking a few minutes to pull herself together before nodding to him to allow them in. It had been hard to ignore the others' knowing smirks. She was grateful when Blaise chose to bid everyone goodbye and take her home, ending any teasing they might have done with a hard glare. Instead, each one said good night, perhaps emphasizing the good part more than necessary, but it was no worse than anything her friends would have done.

It was late when he walked her to her door, the streetlights the only illumination on the quiet street.

"I had a lovely time; thank you," Hermione whispered, not wanting to disturb the stillness of the night.

Blaise didn't reply. Instead, he cupped her face in his hands and stared in her eyes, saying nothing for nearly a minute. Hermione shifted uncomfortably, wondering what happened to the wizard who had kissed her so passionately, but before she could voice her concerns, he moved in, taking her lips lighter than he had at the club, igniting something in her that was new, exciting and terrifying.

"Thank you," he whispered, giving her one more kiss before backing away, smiling slightly as her bodily automatically swayed toward him. "I'll owl you."

He'd waited for her to enter her house before appariating away with a soft pop.

"You know what?" Harry said, uncomfortable with the change in Hermione's expression. "I changed my mind. Don't tell me; I don't want to know."

"Come on Harry; you asked!" she teased.

"Nope. No details, unless it's something I can use against him in the future."

She laughed and got out of bed, suddenly bursting with energy. It looked like a beautiful day outside. Maybe she'd go for a walk before it got too warm. Crookshanks jumped lightly to the floor, winding his way between her legs, eager to go downstairs and have breakfast.

"He was a gentleman, Harry."

"Bastard," Harry grumbled good-naturedly as he got out of bed. "It's been awhile since I've hexed anyone. I'm getting rusty."

"Poor Harry," Hermione mocked, picking up her wand, saying the spell to make her bed and set the room to rights. "Are you going back to bed? Do you want to go for a walk, maybe grab some breakfast?"

"Nope. If training is going to be as hard as Tonks hints, I'm sleeping while I can." Giving her a kiss on the cheek, Harry shuffled back to his room, but turned around to toss a playful wink over his shoulder. "But I wouldn't turn down food if you brought me something."

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><p>She was making a mental shopping list as she walked downstairs moments later, wearing olive green shorts and a simple V-neck gray T-shirt, her ancient blue Converse trainers on her feet. Taking the elastic from around her wrist, she pulled her curls into a high ponytail as she peeked in the study, shaking her head at the sight. At least the room no longer smelled like smoke. She opened the windows to air out the room before she went to bed, her one concession to cleaning up the mess the boys left behind. Even now, she had to fight the urge to straighten the room, knowing that if she did, it would open the door to her cleaning up most household messes. She wasn't going to touch this, no matter how much the spoiled food on the sidebar bothered her, the half-full glasses on the table still covered with cards and a couple of parchments.<p>

"Honestly, are they wizards or are they Muggles?" she grumbled, giving in long enough to pick up the parchments. She could toss those. It would appease her need to have everything neat and orderly long enough to feed her cat before she escaped the house.

Clicking her tongue so Crookshanks would follow her to the kitchen, she absently glanced at the paper in her hands as she entered the kitchen, stopping short when she saw her name.

_Hermione and Blaise aren't here. Check with Dean. – Seamus_

_No sign of them, but I see Cho. Want me to talk to her for you, Harry? – Dean_

_Diagon Alley is dead, boys. If Hermione was here, I'd have seen her. – Lee_

"Were they spying on me?" she screeched, startling Sirius, who was still at the kitchen table. Turning to glare at the only other person in the room, Hermione slapped the parchments on the table and leaned in so they were nearly nose-to-nose. "Who?" she growled.

"Who what?" he asked, wishing he'd gone back to bed.

"Who's idea was this?" she gritted through clenched teeth, slamming her hands on the paper in emphasis.

Sirius didn't answer. He was a man, after all, and they had a code. He didn't break eye contact with Hermione, nor did he shudder when she took a step back, a considering look on her face. Walking to the fireplace, she threw in a handful of floo powder.

"Molly!" she called, bending down to poke her head through.

"Yes?"

"Can you come through, please?"

Hermione backed up, her arms crossed, one foot tapping impatiently as she waited for the Wesley matriarch to make her appearance. Seconds later, the round woman walked through the fireplace, wiping her hands on her gingham apron.

"Good morning, dear," she greeted Hermione, kissing her on the check. "Sirius! Ron said you were back."

Sirius stood and accepted Molly's hug, missing the gentle look on Hermione's face as she watched the two embrace.

"Now," Molly said, ruffling Sirius' head affectionately, automatically taking his mug to the sink to rinse it out, "why am I here so early?"

"Your boys," Hermione told her, picking up the parchments and thrusting them in Molly's hands. "I went out last night and they saw it fit to have people check up on me."

Molly skimmed the missives, hiding her smirk from the angry witch in front of her. Her boys would have done the same had it been Ginny. In fact, they did the first time Harry took her to dinner. It didn't matter that they considered Harry a brother; Ginny was their little sister and that made him the enemy. It was obvious this plot showed how much they cared for Hermione, but she would never see it that way.

"Which of mine were here last night?"

"Ron, Fred, George and Bill."

"Hmm. Well, Ron would never do this. He knows you too well. Bill wouldn't be opposed to it, but he'd never suggest it first."

"So the twins."

Molly did smile then. Her boys. They were more trouble than they were worth. How she loved them. "I'll talk to them," she promised.

"They're here," Sirius chimed in, wondering just what Molly would do with that information.

"Really?" Molly looked back and forth between the witch and wizard. He looked amused. She looked incensed. "Well, I have missed yelling at them since they moved to their flat. Same bedroom as usual?"

Sirius nodded. Molly swept out of the kitchen, a determined look on her face. Hermione smiled to herself, preparing Crookshanks' breakfast , setting his bowl of kibble on the floor just as Molly's voice echoed through the house.

"Who do you think you are to invade somebody's privacy like that?!"

"All right then," Hermione said, a satisfied look on her face as she looked around the room. "I'm going for a walk." Stopping in the doorway, she turned to eye the wizard still sitting at the table. He looked exhausted, as if he'd yet to go to bed. He was wearing worn jeans with holes at the knees and a black T-shirt that was so old, it was nearly gray, but he still looked beautiful, even with his hair mussed like he spent most of the night running his fingers through it in exasperation. "Do you want to come with me?"

Sirius stared. She'd never asked him to go on a walk with her before. She rarely asked him for anything. He opened his mouth to decline, an automatic response, but Ron's words came back to him. _Be her friend_.

"Yeah," he said, getting to his feet, liking how her eyes lit up at his response. "Let's go for a walk."

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><p><strong>AN: ****mUmaRhz asked if I could post links to Hermione's outfits. Great idea! I love writers who do that. I've tried doing a few links, but this site hates them. Let me try a few things and I'll have a note on the next chapter. **


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I solved my pictorial issue be creating a Pinterest account for my stories. If you are interested in seeing the visuals, my user name is bluecurls (of course) and the boards are the titles of my stories. I also included images of how I picture the characters. (Go to the pinterest web address /bluecurls/)**

**Here's a question. If you could have any abandoned FanFic story finished, which one would it be? My pick is Ten Too Many by RobinL. I would so love for her to at least get through the first encounter with each husband. I'm especially curious as to how she'd handle Arthur. The story is on this site, but she has a few more chapters posted on Granger Enchanted.**

**Legalities: I do not own Harry Potter. These characters belong to J.K. Rowling and Scholastic, Inc.**

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><p>She reached for Sirius' arm, stopping herself just before she touched him. She was so used to looping her arm through Harry's or Ron's when she walked with them. She even did it when she was with Fred or George, but that was more out of a self-preservation, thinking she could stop any mischief they might be plotting if one of their arms was occupied. But it didn't seem right to do it now. Sirius was in a mood. She could tell in the kitchen. She wasn't sure what kind of mood it was – depressed, contemplative, angry – but it was obvious he didn't sleep well, if at all. Her mother had always called fresh air nature's cure, so Hermione was happy he agreed to her suggestion of a walk, even if she wasn't sure how to act around him. They'd come to a kind of truce since their conversation in the kitchen, each one pretending there wasn't a ton of baggage weighing them down. Ignoring it worked just fine when they were apart or in the company of others, but now?<p>

"How was your date?"

She looked up, surprised at the question. He wasn't looking at her, though. His eyes were straight ahead, jaw tight, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

"Um … it was nice."

He nodded once. They continued down the street in an uneasy silence.

"I've got to know," Sirius stopped and looked at Hermione. "Where'd you go if you weren't in Diagon Alley?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Did you help them spy on me?"

"I was an innocent bystander, I swear," he proclaimed, holding up one hand. "A nosy bystander," he amended, a trace of a smile on his face, "but still innocent."

It was the smile that did it. He did it so rarely; she was helpless to ignore it. It was right up there with Harry's smile and, like Harry, if he ever found out the impact it had on her, she'd be in trouble.

"London," she replied. "Dinner, drinks, dancing. I'm assuming that's the usual."

They started walking again, the tension that was there moments before somewhat subdued with the attempt of casual conversation.

"The usual?" Sirius asked.

"You know, what happens on dates," Hermione explained, taking a pair of sunglasses out of her back pocket and sliding them on. "In the Muggle world, dinner and a movie are common first date activities. I think it's because you're saved from having to make conversation while watching a movie and the shared experience gives you something to discuss over dinner. We don't have movie theaters in our world, so I'm guessing dinner and drinks are comparable."

"You say that like someone who doesn't have a lot to compare it to."

She glanced over. He couldn't see her eyes because of her sunglasses, but he imagined she rolled her eyes at him. "Obviously."

He stopped walking again. "Why obviously?"

She laughed. "Are you kidding? Sirius, in case you forgot, I was rather occupied the last few years of my life."

"Right, but the war ended -"

"And things were still a mess! The world didn't suddenly become a fairy tale because Voldemort was dead!" Hermione clenched her fists in an attempt to keep the words she wanted to hurl at Sirius inside. Did he honestly think everything was fine when he left? There were loved ones to bury, injured people to heal, a school to start rebuilding. Harry was a mess. He couldn't sleep for fear that he'd wake up and it would all be a dream, and that Voldemort was still alive and that they were in their tent, cold, hungry and so afraid. Ron shifted from keeping Luna close to him, to pushing her away. He couldn't handle the fact that she nearly died and broke up with her, not wanting to be in a position where he could lose her for good. It took several drunken confessions before he asked Hermione to fix things. Then there was the afternoon Kingsley visited, his usual cheerful personality solemn as he told her what Rodolphus Lestrange had screamed seconds before his death.

"I wanted to confirm the information before I told you," Kingsley said as both Ron and Harry moved closer to her on the couch, Arthur and Molly Weasley watched from the doorway, silent tears running down the woman's cheeks.

"Hermione?" Sirius whispered, reaching out, unsure if he should touch her or not. Seconds ago she was yelling at him. Now, she was quiet, still, as if in a trance. He set his hand on her shoulder, shaking gently, the movement bringing her back from her memories.

She pulled herself from her reverie. "I'm fine."

"I'm sorry." He wished he could say more, do more. The words felt inadequate. A hug felt insufficient. He felt lost. He didn't know how to do this. He had been alone for so long. He rubbed his eyes, wishing he could go back and do it all again, make things different, make them better. Fuck, he just wanted things to be better.

She watched the emotions play on his face. Fear. Frustration. Anger. She understood. She felt the same way at times, but she wasn't going to give in to despair. No, they had worked too hard, fought too long, to give up now. She was going to be happy, dammit, and she would make sure the people she loved were happy, too.

"We got through it, Sirius," she said, stepping forward to link her arm through is, tugging until they were walking again. "Now it's time to live a normal life."

"Whatever that means," he scoffed, pleased when she let out a un-Hermione-like snorted.

"Exactly."

* * *

><p>"How was your night?"<p>

She leaned back in the wrought iron chair, tucking one leg under the other as she pushed her sunglasses to rest on top of her head. They were sitting outside the small café, one large iced coffee in her hands and the crumbs of the blueberry scone she insisted on buying if he'd share it with her on the white porcelain plate in the middle of the table. He picked up his glass of water and sipped slowly before answering, wanting to savor the moment that was right now.

"It was fine," he responded, realizing he spoke the truth. The evening went much better than he expected, Ron's big brother moment aside. He'd missed spending time with friends, listening as they swapped stories, told blatant lies, and teased each other mercilessly. He'd forgotten how easy it was to make Remus blush when sharing memories of their misspent youth. He played the mild-mannered professor part well, but he was still a werewolf; a werewolf who experienced the 70s as a teen. He smirked, knowing he still had plenty of ammunition available to him should Mooney ever put him in the position to use it.

"Who won?"

"Bill," he replied, raising both brows at Hermione's sound of amusement. "What?"

"Nothing," she replied, taking a sip of her drink, trying to hide her grin.

"What?" he demanded.

"Nothing, it's just … you guys did an anti-cheating spell, right?"

"Of course."

She smiled, already knowing how the story would end. "Mmm-hmm. Who said the spell?"

Sirius thought for a moment. "George."

She started laughing, snorting coffee out of her nose.

"What?!"

She shook her head, pressing a napkin to her face, holding up a hand as she struggled to stop, the frustrated look on Sirius' face making it difficult.

"Hermione," Sirius said in a tone that warned he was losing his patience.

"Sirius," she echoed his tone, taking deep breaths to calm down. This was great. Oh, how she wished she'd been there. "Think for a moment. Bill is a curse-breaker. Do you honestly think he wouldn't be able to override an anti-cheating spell, especially when it was cast by one of his brother's?"

When she put it that way … "Why would he cheat?"

"Why wouldn't he?" she laughed. "He wouldn't look at it as cheating, but more of a challenge, to see if he could get away with it and, obviously, he did."

Sirius closed his eyes. Bill's luck was excessive and the glee he took in raking in his winnings went beyond the normal celebration of a windfall. He'd got taken. They all had. Judging by the look on Hermione's face, she was familiar with the setup.

"Has he pulled it on you?"

"He's tried," she smirked, taking another sip of her coffee. "Don't worry. He only does it to see if he can. Any galleons he wins by cheating he returns to the owners. He is Bill, after all."

"I'd keep the money," Sirius grumbled.

"And that's why you're you," she said simply, reaching over to lay a hand on top of his. He turned his hand over, clasping hers, ignoring the quick spark that shot through his arm at the casual contact. "This is nice," she continued, echoing his earlier thought. "I'm glad you decided to come with me." She squeezed his hand once and pulled away, sitting back in her chair once more.

"Me, too," he replied, surprised to realize he meant it.

"See? Things don't have to be awkward between us."

He looked at Hermione, her words acting like a bucket of cold water on the situation. Why would she say that?

"And now I've made it awkward." She shook her head ruefully. "Good one, Hermione."

"Hermione, I'm -"

"No. No more apologies. No more conversations about things we can't change. Don't you want to move past that, Sirius?"

"More than anything."

"All right," she said, nodding her head decisively. "So we're agreed. Clean slate. You're you, I'm me. We're two people who live in the same house, have the same friends, and – I've got it! We're _When Harry Met Sally_!"

Sirius furrowed his brows. "Harry met who? I thought he and Ginny broke up. Who's Sally?"

"No, not our Harry, a different Harry. It's a movie. Ohmigosh, it's a great movie! My mum loved it; she watched it all of the time. So the main characters are Harry and Sally. They meet once and don't get along after having this argument that guys and girls can't ever just be friends."

"It sounds boring."

"Wait. So they meet again a few years later, by accident, and they still don't get along. They're both with other people then, so the whole sexual tension is gone, but he still manages to make her mad."

"That sounds familiar," Sirius drained his water glass.

"Fast forward some more and they meet again. This time, she's single, he's divorced, and they're both lonely, but not in the mood to date, so they start talking. It turns out they like spending time together and they become friends."

He waited, but she was finished with her synopsis and was looking at him expectantly. "That's it? That's the whole movie?"

"Pretty much. Oh, there's a famous scene when Sally fakes an orgasm in a restaurant -"

"What?!"

" – but yes, that's it."

"Your mother watched this movie all the time?" Sirius was dubious. True, he didn't have much experience with Muggle movies, but Lily had dragged him and James to a few films. He wondered if _Star Wars _ was still around.

"It's a great movie about friendship, Sirius," she said in a haughty tone.

"And you think we can be them?"

"Why not? Have you ever had a female friend besides Harry's mum?"

He shook his head. "To be fair, Lily didn't have much of a choice in the matter. James and I were a package deal. It took her some time to like me."

"I can't imagine why," Hermione said dryly.

He glared at her. "I'll have you know that I'm a great friend."

"I am, too."

"Prove it."

She laughed. "You want me to prove I'm a great friend."

"I just said it, didn't I?"

Hermione looked around, her eyes falling on a blond a few tables behind them. She noticed the women eyeing Sirius when they first sat down, deliberately taking the seat facing her so Sirius couldn't make eye contact. He'd yet to resume the dating life he was famous for in his pre-Azkaban days, but now that he was a free man, she assumed it was just a matter of time and hoped she was no longer living in Grimmauld Place when it happened. Still, that didn't mean she couldn't use the blond to prove the benefits of a female-male relationship.

"All right," she grinned wickedly. "There's a woman, two tables back on your right, who's been watching you since we arrived. I'm going to go inside and buy a few pastries for Harry. You are going to let her come over and flirt with you."

He shook his head, unable to explain the mild panic he felt at her suggestion. He wasn't ready for this. Not now.

"Don't worry. I'll be back before you know it." With that, she stood up, pushed in her chair and walked inside the café.

Sirius watched her leave, pushing down the urge to follow her. This was ridiculous. He knew how to flirt with women. He was Sirius Black. Flirting was his second language. So what if years had passed since he'd done it. What was the Muggle saying? It was like riding a bike, right? You never forgot how.

"Excuse me."

Fuck.

"Do you have the time?"

He looked up at the blond who was smiling at him, her hand on her hip in a pose that was obviously rehearsed despite its casual air. Automatically, he smiled.

Hermione watched from inside the café, ignoring the twinge in her heart as Sirius answered the woman. He said something that made her laugh, his hand waving at the seat she'd just abandoned. She narrowed her eyes. She wanted to prove a point, but did he have to enjoy it so much?

Meanwhile, Sirius felt his eyes glazing over as the woman – What was her name? Kelsie? Chelsea? – continued talking about her beloved pet Chihuahua, Chester. Dear Merlin, who named their dog Chester? Studying the photo she pulled form his wallet, he questioned whether that rat was even a dog. Give him a minute and he'd show her what a real dog looked like.

"Are you sure your girlfriend won't mind?"

"My what?"

Chelsea, no Kelsie, gestured at the café where Hermione had disappeared minutes before. How long did it take to buy Harry a bloody biscuit? "I wouldn't want to cause trouble," she said in a tone that obviously meant she'd love the opportunity to make his life difficult.

"We have an understanding," Sirius explained, wondering what role he was supposed to take in this little game Hermione was playing. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to challenge her.

"Oh?" she giggled. The sound grated on Sirius. "What would that be?"

"Yes, darling, what would that be?" Hermione purred, appearing at the table with a white pastry bag in one hand, her eyes dangerous as she glared at the woman sitting in her chair.

"Hermione," his greeting was more relief than shock and she had to struggle not to laugh. He was not prepared for something like this. She'd have to talk to Remus about getting him out of the house more often.

"Sirius," she replied, running a hand down his shoulder in a greeting that looked casual on the surface, but was an obvious marking of her territory to the other woman at the table. "Are you going to introduce me to your friend?"

"Um, sure? Hermione, this is Kelsie."

"Chelsea."

"Right, of course; Chelsea. Chelsea, this is Hermione. She's my …" He broke off, shooting her a look that spoke of confusion with a bit of desperation added to the mix.

"I'm the mother of his unborn child," Hermione said cheerfully, holding out her hand. Chelsea was so shocked by the greeting, she took it without thinking. Sirius, though, was staring at Hermione as if he'd never seen her before.

_"My what?!"_

"I know, darling! Can you believe it? You thought you were sterile!"

_"I'm what?!"_

Chelsea pushed away from the table, the screech of metal on concrete doing nothing to break the stare between the two people in front of her. "Um, well, it's been nice to meet you," she mumbled, picking up her large leather purse, eager to be away from the couple. The woman looked gleeful, the man nearly murderous. "Congratulations. I'm sure you'll be amazing parents."

She took off, telling herself that was the last time she'd approach a man who was obviously taken, no matter how cute he was. If Hermione knew this, she'd consider her little stunt a charitable act for mankind, but right now she was too busy enjoying Sirius' obvious discomfort. Laughing, Hermione picked up her coffee and finished it, tossing the empty container in the trash can.

"Are you ready to go home?"

He stood up slowly, towering over Hermione as he glared at her. "What was that stunt about?"

She smiled innocently. "I was simply showing you what a great friend I can be. I got rid of her, didn't I?"

His face was incredulous. "You told me to talk to her!"

"Exactly. Not every woman you flirt with will be a winner. Over time, we'll develop a system for when you need me to intervene and scare off those you don't want. Granted, it's not something I'm willing to do often, so your taste will need to improve."

He couldn't believe the witch standing in front of him. She was smiling at him, the picture of complete innocence, despite the deviousness of her actions. Was this the same girl who'd rather spend her evening reading than going out with her friends?

"Who are you and what have you done with Hermione Granger?" he asked, unable to keep the admiration out of his voice.

She looped her arm through his, quoting another of her mother's favorite movies. "'I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.'"

* * *

><p>Harry heard laughter as he walked down the stairs – Hermione's high-pitched squeal that happened when she was too far gone to quit, followed by Sirius' loud bark. It made him smile, knowing two of the people he cared about the most were happy. He pushed open the door, taking in the scene of four people sitting around the table, Tonks' eyes sparkling as Hermione finished telling her story, Remus shaking his head in amusement.<p>

"Lesson learned, cousin; do not encourage this girl. She'll make you regret it!"

Sirius studied Tonks. "You say that like you've had a similar experience."

The two witches looked at each other before their giggles started again. Sirius and Remus shrugged, their looks of confusion matching Harry's as he sat in the chair next to Hermione, smiling his thanks as she pushed the platter of Danishes towards him.

"Spill it," Harry demanded around a mouthful of raspberry filling.

Tonks gave Hermione a questioning look. She replied with a 'Go ahead' gesture.

"It was last month, when we were out for our witches-only excursion. Ginny needed the loo, so we popped into a Muggle establishment, not realizing it was geared toward a specific clientele."

Hermione snickered, making the curiosity of the men at the table increase tenfold.

"We're waiting for Ginny to come out and a woman approaches us and asks Luna to dance. She says yes because she's Luna, and then Angelina and Katie decide to dance. It's while they're out there that Hermione realizes we're in a lesbian bar."

Sirius grinned, already loving the story. "You mean …"

"Yes, it was ladies' night in more ways than one," Tonks laughed. "I kind of freaked out after she told me, not because of where we were, mind you, but because no one asked me to dance!"

Remus shook his head, unsurprised by his wife's reaction. "I'm sure they wanted you, love," he said soothingly as he took her hand in his.

"That's what Hermione said! She decided to prove it by starting an argument about my behavior whenever we go out and I swear only a minute passed before this woman –"

"Helen," Hermione supplied, her eyes on the table, a faint blush on her cheeks.

"Right, Helen, came over and told her she'd better start treating me right or else she'd lose the best thing that ever happened to her. So we made up and everyone was happy."

Hermione leaned over the table to hug Tonks who stood up to meet her halfway. "I meant every word of that apology, my dearest."

"I love you, too," Tonks snickered.

Sirius watched the exchange, feeling as if Tonks had left out an important part of the story. There had to be an explanation for why Hermione's face was red and she refused to make eye contact with the others. "This apology," he started. "Did you use words or -"

"Padfoot," Remus' tone was warning.

Tonks eyes were sparkling. Hermione kept hers firmly on the table.

"Huh," Sirius mused, imagining the possibilities.

"Dora?" Remus turned to his wife, his own thoughts not far behind his friend's.

"You know, I'm still rather sleepy. The night shift will do that," she continued, getting to her feet, pulling Remus up with her. "Want to tuck me in?"

No one missed Remus' low growl in response, the pair quickly leaving the room.

"Is my takeaway supposed to be that I got off easy?" Sirius asked Hermione.

Harry looked back and forth between the pair, wondering what he missed while he was sleeping. Given the lack of tension in the room, he decided it was a good thing and decided not to push it.

"Your takeaway is that men and women can be friends, and it's a relationship that benefits both parties, right Harry?" Hermione turned to her best friend who gave a thumbs up in response. "See?"

Sirius chuckled. "Though the Harry in your story didn't meet Sally when they were 11-years-old. And I'm pretty sure your movie didn't have a troll."

"Oh, I don't know, Sirius. Some of the women Harry dated were pretty questionable in the looks category."

Harry swallowed his Danish. "What did I do?"

Hermione leaned her head against his shoulder. "Not you, Harry; Harry from _When Harry Met Sally_."

"Yes, Hermione gave me a lesson in the benefits of male-female friendships today. It was enlightening," Sirius continued, yawning as he stood, feeling more relaxed than he had in days. Maybe he'd try taking a nap; that is, if Remus remembered to put up a silencing charm. Moving around the table to give Harry a one-armed hug around the neck, he stopped behind Hermione's chair, hesitating for the second before he dropped his hand to her shoulder and squeezed lightly. Hermione watched his exit before getting up to clear the table. She set the dishes in the sink, waving her wand to start the washing before she moved to leave the kitchen, too.

"Hermione?"

She looked over her shoulder at Harry, who was looking at her with a questioning look on his face. "Yes?"

"You made me watch that movie," he told her, his eyes calculating as he studied his friend. "Harry and Sally? They got together in the end."

She cocked her head to the side, the trace of a smile on her lips. "Did they? Hmm. I forgot that part." Blowing Harry a kiss, she swept out of the kitchen. Harry considered going after her, but thought better of it. If anyone knew what they were doing, it was Hermione.

"Good luck, Sirius," Harry mumbled, taking the last pastry from the plate.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: For all of you Remus/Hermione fans (especially meldz and shealone), the guilt of writing about his happy life with Tonks festered until I wrote a fluffy little lemony-filled Remione one shot, ****_Bedtime Stories_****. It can be read as a companion piece to ****_Mine, Always_**** or enjoyed on its own. If you get upset whenever I make a Remus and Tonks mention, go read that story. I understand; I'm there with you. Remus and Hermione forever! You know, unless she's with Sirius.**

**Legalities: I do not own Harry Potter. These characters belong to J.K. Rowling and Scholastic, Inc.**

* * *

><p>"Augh!"<p>

Hermione looked up from her book as Ginny stomped into the bedroom, the ends of her red hair sparkling with temper as she flopped on the floor.

"Bad news?"

"Luna ditched us for Ron."

Hermione set her book aside. "Damn her."

Ginny glared at her friend. "Don't joke about it! She chose Ron over us!"

"To be fair, Gin, I think he does something for her that we can't, despite what happened at the lesbian bar."

Ginny snickered, her face lighting up at the memory. Then she remembered it was her last night before boarding the Hogwarts Express and sobered quickly. "All I wanted was a fun night with my friends before I have to go back to school rules, uniforms and McGonagall."

"Professor McGonagall," Hermione corrected automatically. "Besides, you have me. We can have a good time without Luna."

"That's true, but for what I had planned, it's better to have a crowd."

That sounded ominous. "What are we doing?"

Ginny smirked. "Remember Sing City?"

"No." Hermione threw a pillow at her friend who batted it away easily. "No, no, no."

"You have to," she whined. "It's my last night and you already promised to do whatever I want."

"But karaoke?"

"You've done it before!"

"Right, when I was drunk and there were six of us. You need a crowd of friends when you are humiliating yourself in public."

"Which is why I'm mad at Luna!" Ginny cried, bringing the conversation full circle.

Hermione let out a huff of frustration. She knew there was no chance she'd get Ginny to change her mind. The girl was the most stubborn Weasley she knew – and that was saying something. If her heart was set on karaoke, there would be no deviation from the plan. "Fine. Luna's out. How about Angelina? Katie?"

"Angelina is going out with George and Katie has to work."

"Oh! Fred!"

Ginny groaned. "For once I would like to go out without one of my brothers in tow. How about Tonks?"

Hermione shook her head. "Full moon tomorrow night. Tonks is, um, otherwise engaged."

The two witches shared a look, both of them grinning at the thought of what their friend was doing at that moment with a certain former professor who may have been the star of a few schoolgirl crushes.

"Lucky witch," Ginny grumbled under her breath.

Hermione nodded, her mind switching from the Lupins' sex life to their current predicament. "Neville?"

"Dinner with his gran."

"Hannah?"

"She's with Neville."

"Really?" Hermione had no idea that their romance was moving so quickly. Good for Neville. "OK, Seamus? He loves karaoke."

"Working."

"Dean?"

"My ex-boyfriend?" Ginny scoffed. "Great idea, Hermione. Why don't we just ask Harry, too?"

"Well, he's out because he and Sirius have plans."

Ginny had wandered over to her wardrobe, considering her options, though she paused when Hermione mentioned Sirius' name. "How is the brooding wizard?"

Hermione shrugged. "Still broody, though he seems less so lately. He actually went out to the pub with Remus the other night. The way Harry was acting, you'd think his firstborn had left home. I swear he wore a path in the hallway waiting for them to return." She didn't feel the need to add that she worried, too, though she hid it by staying in her room, peeking out the window every time she heard a noise even though she knew Remus took Sirius to a wizarding bar, which meant they would return by floo, not apparition. She wasn't concerned about the state in which he would return – his drinking had declined considerably – but whether or not he would return alone. Perhaps egging him on at the café had been a bad move.

Ginny smiled slightly at Hermione's comment. No matter how strange things were between her and Harry at the moment, she knew how much Sirius meant to him and how much he worried about him while he was gone. Pulling a red dress from her closest, she wandered over to the mirror, holding it up to see if it clashed with her hair. "I've got it!" she cried, dress forgotten as she twirled to look at her friend. Hermione was eyeing her warily. "Blaise!"

Hermione groaned. She knew once she named everyone in their circle of friends that Ginny would cast the net further.

"Come on! I know you haven't gone out again, but he did send you flowers – at work even! It's an unspoken rule that flowers don't count unless you can flaunt them in front of other women."

Hermione smiled, remembering the response Blaise's two dozen blue orchids had caused amongst the witches in the Department of International Magical Cooperation offices, not to mention the excitement she felt at opening his card. No man had ever sent her flowers before; not even her father.

"I know that smile," Ginny goaded. "You're thinking about it."

She sighed. "Fine, I'm _considering _it."

"Yay!"

"But I haven't spoken to him in nearly a week. He said he'd owl and he hasn't. If I were to ask him to go out tonight, wouldn't that make me look desperate?"

"We are desperate!" Ginny cried.

"No, we're not!"

"Fine," Ginny amended. "We are not desperate in that regard, but we do need numbers and Slytherins tend to travel in packs. Tell him it can be research for whatever he and Malfoy are planning."

"I don't know," Hermione hemmed. It wasn't that she didn't want to see Blaise again, but more that she didn't know how she felt about seeing him again. Nearly a week had passed since their date and while that went well, he wasn't the wizard at the forefront of her mind as she went about her days and nights.

"It might make a certain Anigmus jealous to know you spent the evening in the company of a certain snake," Ginny badgered.

Hermione eyed her friend. She'd never mentioned her feelings for Sirius to Ginny, but she wasn't stupid. And while Hermione was feeling more comfortable in his presence and him in hers, they hadn't spent a lot of time together, either. She wasn't planning on pushing him – yet – but maybe she was playing it too safe.

"I'd be using Blaise."

Ginny shrugged. "He's a Slytherin. He'd say you were playing things to your advantage. Besides, even if you and Sirius decide to run off and get married tomorrow, you'd still need closure with Blaise."

"And if this excursion leads to something else?"

Ginny's expression was wistful. "Speaking from experience, closure is overrated."

* * *

><p>In the end, she sent the owl, though she didn't outright ask Blaise and his friends to join her and Ginny. Instead, she wrote a belated thank you for the flowers and offered to buy him a drink to make up for her lack of manners.<p>

"See?" she said, showing the note to Ginny. "Casual, non-committal, and by letting him know I'm out with you, he'll know I'm not asking him on a date, but more of a group situation. If he chooses to come, he'll bring a friend or two to keep the tone."

Ginny stared at her friend. She knew Hermione was smart, but her intelligence leaned more toward academic; not social. "Where did you learn all of this?"

"My parents had a rather eclectic range of magazines in their dental clinic," she replied, tying the note to Pig's talon. "You'd be amazed at the amount of dating advice Muggle publications offer." Opening Ginny's window, she let the little owl fly away. "All right, I'm going to run home and change; hopefully I won't interrupt the werewolf and his wife."

Ginny poked her head around the wardrobe door. "Does that happen?"

"Let's just say there's a reason why I'm staying here tonight," Hermione laughed. "Meet back here in 30 minutes?"

She couldn't hear Ginny's response from the large pile of clothes in her arms, but she assumed it was yes. Bouncing down the stairs, Hermione flooed home, rushing up the stairs as quietly as she could, hands over her ears so she wouldn't hear anything she'd have trouble forgetting. Remus was usually considerate about things like that, but the closer it got to the full moon, the more Moony's instincts took over and he wasn't so keen on courtesy.

Shutting her door, Hermione put up a silencing charm, then turned on her CD player, blasting _Oasis _as she perused her wardrobe. She didn't want to go over the top, she decided, pushing aside the dresses Tonks kept adding to her wardrobe. Casual was the tone of the evening. Well, casual with a little spice, she amended, pulling out a pair of light blue skinny jeans and a salmon-colored silk tank top. She changed quickly, pulling her hair into a low ponytail. She kept the makeup minimal, sliding silver hoops through her ears and a handful of silver bangle bracelets on her arm. She pulled on a pair of wedge sandals with silver straps, and tossed a few essentials in her off-white leather shoulder bag. Turning off her music, she covered her ears before opening her door and running through the house once more, flooing back to Ginny with 10 minutes to spare.

* * *

><p>"I'm nervous," Ginny confessed, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "Why am I nervous?"<p>

Hermione looked at her friend. Normally, Ginny was the picture of confidence. Tall, athletic, she could command the attention of a room simply by walking in it. Dressed in flared red skirt and a black-and-white striped top with red flats, she was the epitome of summer casual, her red hair framing her paler-than-usual face. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know," she whispered, wringing her hands together. She stopped walking, making the man behind her bump into them. Smiling her apologies, Hermione took her friend by the arm and pulled her inside the nearest shop – a florist.

"May I help you?" the sales clerk asked.

"Could we use your restroom?"

"No," the woman said, an annoyed look on her pinched face.

"But she's going to –" Hermione gestured to Ginny, who did look ill. The woman behind the counter waved toward the back room frantically. "Thank you," Hermione gasped, pushing Ginny in front of her, not stopping until they were in the small space that barely fit a sink and toilet, let alone two adult witches.

"Um, why are we hiding in a bathroom?" Ginny asked, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

"Because of this," Hermione proclaimed, pulling a silver flask out of her purse. Unscrewing the lid, she took a sip, coughing as the mouthful of Ogden's finest slid down her throat. Waving her eyes to stop the tears that pooled in her eyes, she pushed the flask toward her friend. "Liquid courage," she gasped. "You need it."

Ginny didn't question that logic, mimicking Hermione's actions, though she didn't choke. Instead, she took a second shot, enjoying the quick slide of warmth the alcohol made her feel. "When did you start carrying a flask?"

"It's not mine," she replied, shaking her head when Ginny offered her another sip. "I swiped it from Sirius."

"Petty thievery? I'm shocked!" Ginny giggled, already sounding more like herself. She took another drink.

"It worked, didn't it? Panic attack avoided?"

"More like my descent into depression is put off for another day," Ginny admitted, screwing the lid tight on the flask before sliding it into Hermione's bag.

"Harry?"

The redhead nodded.

"I'm sorry. Do you want me to talk to him?"

Ginny shook her head. "No. He's right. I know he's right. It would be ridiculous to try and maintain a relationship while I'm at school at he's at the academy, but … I _hate_ that he was so rational about it. I mean, couldn't he be a little upset? Merlin, we were each other's firsts! Did that not mean anything?"

"You slept with Harry?"

She clapped her hands over her mouth. "He didn't tell you?"

"Why would he tell me?"

"Because he's your best friend!"

"Hello? Girl. Boys and girls don't talk about stuff like that. Well, OK, I talk to Ron about stuff like that, but for the record, he hates it and wished I would stop."

Ginny laughed. "If it makes you feel better, it wasn't the best experience."

"Ew! Stop it!"

"No, really. When they say the first time is not what romance books make it out to be, they're telling you the truth. Honestly, I wasn't even sure we'd done anything when it was over."

"No more!" Hermione screamed, covering her ears with her hands. "Ginny, I love you, but you have got to stop talking right now!"

Ginny snickered, her face turning red as she struggled to hold in her amusement. She pursed her lips, determined to pull herself together. Then she made the mistake of looking at Hermione. Seconds later, both girls burst out laughing. They stood there, clutching each other, tears streaming down their face, looking very much like the little girls they used to be.

"Poor Harry," Hermione panted.

"Don't feel too bad for him," Ginny advised. "He got better. It got better." Her eyes got dreamy. "It got a lot better."

"My Gods! Where was I when all of this was happening? Oh no, you didn't … Harry's room?" Ginny flinched. "I'm right next door!"

Ginny ducked her ahead, but refused to confirm or comment. Some things didn't need to be shared, not even with the girl she considered a sister.

"Excuse me!" There was a sharp rap on the door. "I need to ask you to leave now."

The girls performed a quick glamour spell, removing all traces of their merriment. When they opened the door, the clerk was scowling at them her arms crossed over chest. "I thought she was sick," she jutted her head towards Ginny.

"Damn pregnancy," Ginny grumbled, hiding her grin as the woman's eyes grew wide. "You hear stories about morning sickness, but feeling ill all day? I tell you, the minute I figure out who the father is, I'm going to lay into him so hard."

"Isn't that what got you in the mess in the first place?" Hermione joked.

The woman glared at both girls. "Well," she huffed. "I never!"

* * *

><p>They were still chuckling when they approached Sing City, arms linked, Ginny's nervousness long forgotten. They were a site to behold, the willowy redhead and the petite brunette, though they were too busy talking to each other to notice the approving looks they received from several men along the way, including the four wizards standing near the entrance of the karaoke bar.<p>

"That's the girl you call The Weaslette?" Adrian gave Ginny the once over. "What's your problem, Malfoy?"

The blond didn't answer, his eyes drawn to the witch's legs. They went on for miles.

"Granger looks good," Marcus remarked in his no-nonsense manner.

"Hands off," Blaise reminded him, stepping away from the others to greet the witches, swooping in to kiss the back of Ginny's hand before kissing Hermione lightly on the lips.

"Dolcezza," he purred. "It's good to see you again. Thank you for the invitation."

She smiled. There was something about Blaise – the way he looked, the way he acted – that made her happy. She wasn't sure what it meant exactly, but she wasn't going to analyze it; not tonight. She was there to have fun, to ensure Ginny had a memorable sendoff before returning to Hogwarts. Glancing over Blaise's shoulder, she was sure it wouldn't be difficult.

"Ginny," she took her friend's hand and pulled her forward. "You remember Draco."

"Malfoy," she greeted, her eyes widening as he reached for her hand, mimicking Blaise's greeting.

"Ginny. You look beautiful."

Ginny looked at Hermione, eyes wide. She could only shake her head slightly in response.

"Ahem," Adrian interrupted a smirk on his handsome face. "I know we're not terribly close, but I thought that night meant something to you, Hermione. I know it did for me."

She rolled her eyes, stepping away from Blaise to give the handsome wizard a quick hug. "Adrian, this is my friend, Ginny Weasley. Ginny, this is Adrian Pucey and," she stepped around Adrian to grab Marcus' hand and pull him forward, "Marcus Flint. Marcus, Ginny plays Quidditch."

"What position?"

"Chaser."

He smirked. "Me, too."

"Great, a connection," Draco interrupted, pushing between the two. "Now will someone please tell me what we're doing here?"

"Didn't you read the sign?" Hermione asked, pointing to the illuminated letters in the window.

"Yeah. What is kar-ee-o-kee, Granger?"

"Follow us, boys," Ginny announced, taking Marcus' offered arm and leading the others inside. "You're in for a treat."

* * *

><p>Sirius looked around the bar. It was a muggle establishment, one that didn't have the lights, preen and shine of the newer establishments popping up around London every day. This was a man's bar: scarred floors, classic music from an aged jukebox, and a line of pool tables extending the full length of the bar.<p>

He loved it.

"You dad and I used to hang out in a place like this," Sirius remarked, leaning on his pool cue as Harry studied the table.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. When we were home for breaks, we'd spend time amongst the Muggles. James figured we'd get in less trouble that way, as anything we pulled couldn't be traced back to our world. He was a thinker, your dad."

Harry laughed. Sirius had the reputation as being the lead instigator of some of the bigger Marauder pranks, but it sounded like his dad had a few ideas of his own. Unfortunately, his peek into Professor Snape's memories proved that some of those ideas weren't the best. Harry glanced over at Sirius. He wanted to ask about what he saw. Part of him hoped Sirius could explain his dad's actions, why they were necessary, but another part of him was afraid to ask. What if there was no excuse? What if his dad was simply a bully?

"What's on your mind?"

Harry swallowed. "How'd you …"

"I may not have been around for you that much, but I grew up with someone a lot like you. Your dad got the same look when he had something to say."

Harry aimed for the 8-ball, wincing when he missed. "Um, I don't know how much you know about Snape, what happened after he was attacked in the Shrieking Shack."

Sirius shrugged. Remus gave him the abbreviated version, saying the memories Harry viewed in Dumbledore's pensieve proved the man's loyalty to the Order. While he wasn't the man's biggest fan, he supposed he owed him for helping keep Harry safe from Voldemort for all these years.

"What I saw … I knew he was friends with my mum, that they grew up together. I knew they fought, that he called her - "

"Don't say it, Harry. We don't need to hear that word again."

Harry nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "But he said it because he was mad, embarrassed. Because of something my dad did."

Sirius closed his eyes. He knew what Harry was talking about; maybe not the exact event, but there were plenty to choose from. James tortured Snape. Hell, they both did. He gave it back just as well most of the time, but often it was two against one.

He tossed his cue on the table and walked out of the bar. Harry threw a few bills on the table and followed, finding Sirius leaning against the brick wall near the bar's entrance, a cigarette in his mouth.

"Your dad …," he started, letting out a slow sigh. "He wasn't a bad guy, Harry. He was cocky, arrogant. In that regard, we probably weren't good for each other, each one feeding off the other. He grew up with the best of everything, with two parents who adored him. Things came easy to James and he assumed they always would. Your mother, she was the first one who didn't fall at his feet. Man, that pissed him off. It also made him want her more."

"Was he … did he …"

"Listen to me," Sirius said fiercely. "No matter the mistakes your dad made, and he made plenty, he _never _did one hurtful thing to your mother. He loved her!" He took another drag. "James and Snive – Snape … it was complicated. He was a Slytherin. I hated the entire lot. Your dad saw what my family did to me every summer, every school holiday, and hated them, too. It was a blanket hate. Was it fair? No, but we were stupid kids. It's easier to look back now and realize not everything was black and white.

"The fact that Snape and your mother were friends; it was just another reason for your father, for us, to hate him. We were mean, Harry. We were cruel. He got us back. Don't think one memory shows the whole picture, but overall … we made his life hell," he admitted, shoulders slumping as he leaned against the cool brick, closing his eyes. "Have I thought about that? Yes. For years, Harry, it was all I could think about. Did our actions, the actions of two teenage boys, instigate everything that happened next? Were we the reason Snape became a Death Eater? Did his hatred of us turn Voldemort's attention to your parents, to you? Are we the reason he turned spy? It ate at me, Harry. It still does."

He closed his eyes, the weight of his words settling on his shoulders. The heaviness added to his guilt. So much guilt. So much pain. How much was he expected to take? Was it enough? Would it ever be enough?

"I did not commit the crimes that landed me in Azkaban, Harry, but I'm not an innocent man. I know that. Now you know that, too."

He pushed away from the wall. He couldn't look at Harry. He didn't want to see this expression on his face. Hurt? Anger? Acceptance? Sirius didn't know what reaction he feared the most, so he turned and walked away.

Whoever said confession was good for the soul was full of shit.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I want to write the karaoke scene, but it seemed wrong to go from Sirius' conversation with Harry back to the bar, so it will appear in the next chapter. **

**Dolcezza is Italian for sweetheart (formal version). I wanted to use Bella, which means beautiful, but figured that would make Hermione think of Bellatrix. No need for that!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: For the record, I've done karaoke once my entire life. I'm all about singing in my car or in the kitchen. That's about as public as I'll get.**

**Legalities: I do not own Harry Potter. These characters belong to J.K. Rowling and Scholastic, Inc. **

* * *

><p>Hermione had only been to Sing City once, yet another stop during the now-infamous girls' weekend, but the event was forever branded in her mind as one of her strangest out-of-body experiences to date. As the only Muggle-born witch, she had the most knowledge of the songs people were crooning, meaning she spent most of her time singing lead while her friends took on the role of backup performers, though it was several shots before Hermione's inhibitions were loose enough for her to take the spotlight in the first place. Watching Adrian look over Ginny's shoulder as she flipped through the binder of song choices, she wondered if any of the Slytherins would have the courage, and the knowledge, to take the stage.<p>

"How does this work?" Blaise asked, his hand resting on Hermione's lower back as they stood at the bar, waiting for the bartender to finish filling their order.

"First," Hermione said, handing him a pitcher of beer, "we drink."

Blaise smiled. He and Draco had a newfound appreciation for the vast amount of alcoholic beverages available in Muggle establishments. He'd never admit to liking them more than firewhiskey, but it was nice to have variety. "Then?"

"Then we drink some more," she laughed, smiling her thanks at Marcus who walked over to take the second pitcher of beer and tray of glasses. She took her wallet out of her purse, shaking her head when Draco suddenly appeared, handing several bills to the bartender. "This was my treat, Malfoy."

The blond snorted. "My father would kill me if I allowed a witch to pay, Granger." He gave her a look condescending look. "Even you."

She opened her mouth to protest, the urge to smack the snotty look off of his face strong. It had been several years since she hit him. He was due. But then he stuffed the bills the bartender returned to him in the plastic pitcher that served as a tip jar. Looking down at her clenched fist, he leaned against the bar. "Hitting me would not be the best start to the night. At least wait until you can blame the alcohol."

"You think you're pretty smart, don't you?"

"I know I am," he replied, gesturing for her and Blaise to walk ahead of him.

She rolled her eyes, but didn't push the issue. The night was young. She'd find a way to pay for a round.

"Hermione!" Ginny cried when they reached the booth, scooting closer to Adrian to make room for the others on the semi-circle's cheap leather. "I found our first song!"

Hermione finished filling the glasses, handing one to each person, taking a large drink before she answered her friend. "Enlighten me."

"You'll see when we get up there."

"Up there?" Marcus asked.

Hermione gestured to the raised platform. Sing City had a small dance floor, with several couples taking advantage of the music playing over the loudspeakers as the deejay finished setting up for the performances.

"So it's a concert," Draco surmised.

"Not quite," Hermione corrected. "Anyone here," she gestured around the bar, "can sing a song. You flip through the book, make your choice, write it on a piece of paper, and submit it to the deejay. When he calls your name, you go up and sing."

"The music is instrumental, no voices," Ginny added. "If you can't remember the words, they show up on the screens."

The guys looked at the oversized screens on either side of the stage, as well as the one over the deejay's booth.

"What if you can't sing?" Adrian asked.

"Hence the alcohol," Hermione held up her now empty glass. "The key is to drink enough so you have the courage to get up there and believe you'll rock your performance."

"And you've done this before?" Blaise asked.

"She's better than she lets on," Ginny told him. "The last time we were here, she gave an amazing performance of a Divinyls song. How many guys slipped you their phone number?"

Hermione held up six fingers, blushing at Adrian's wolf whistle.

"And how many girls?" Ginny grinned.

"Two."

"Damn." Draco picked up the pitcher and refilled Hermione's glass. "Drink up, Granger. This I have to see."

"What was the song?" Marcus asked.

Hermione took a big drink before answering. "I Touch Myself."

* * *

><p>She was halfway through her third glass before the deejay announced hers and Ginny's name.<p>

"Performance time!" Draco cheered, taking Hermione's drink from her hands. She waited for Blaise to slide out of the booth, smiling her thanks at his offered hand.

"Good luck," he whispered, bending his head to kiss her lightly on the lips.

"Not now," Ginny chortled, taking Hermione by the hand and dragging her to the stage. Microphones in hand, Ginny gave a low bow as their song was announced: I Love Rock 'N Roll.

"Me?" Ginny asked.

Hermione gestured for her to take the first verse, laughing when the redhead flipped her hair behind her shoulders, a move that had several men at a small table near the stage whistling. Sending them a saucy wink, Ginny waited for the music to begin.

_I saw him dancin' there by the record machine  
>I knew he must a been about seventeen<br>The beat was goin' strong  
>Playin' my favorite song<br>An' I could tell it wouldn't be long  
>Till he was with me, yeah me, singin'<em>

_I love rock n' roll_  
><em>So put another dime in the jukebox, baby<em>  
><em>I love rock n' roll<em>  
><em>So come an' take your time an' dance with me<em>

The girls hopped off stage, going straight to their table where four wizards were watching them appreciatively. Ginny held out her hand to Marcus, who helped her step up on the table. The redhead clapped along with the music as Hermione settled herself in Blaise's lap for the next verse, curling one hand around his next as she sang to him.

_He smiled so I got up and' asked for his name  
>That don't matter, he said,<br>'Cause it's all the same_

_Said can I take you home where we can be alone_

_An' next we were movin' on_  
><em>He was with me, yeah me<em>

_Next we were movin' on_  
><em>He was with me, yeah me, singin'<em>

She hopped off Blaise's lap, moving to the dance floor for the chorus while Ginny stayed on the table.

_I love rock n' roll_  
><em>So put another dime in the jukebox, baby<em>  
><em>I love rock n' roll<em>  
><em>So come an' take your time an' dance with me<em>

Hermione felt Blaise behind her seconds before his arms wrapped around her waist. Smiling, she leaned back against his chest, swaying wish him as she and Ginny finished their song._  
><em>_  
>Said can I take you home where we can be alone<em>

_An we'll be movin' on_  
><em>An' singin' that same old song<em>  
><em>Yeah with me, singin'<em>

_I love rock n' roll_  
><em>So put another dime in the jukebox, baby<em>  
><em>I love rock n' roll<em>  
><em>So come an' take your time an' dance with me<em>

Twirling out of Blaise's hold, Hermione took a deep bow, waiting for Ginny to get down from the table before they returned the microphones to the stage.

"This is my new favorite thing," Draco told Adrian.

* * *

><p>"Come on," Hermione urged, her voice several octaves higher after another beer and a round of tequila shots she was already regretting. "Ginny's gone twice. I refuse to sing another song until someone from this table mans up."<p>

Blaise poured himself a beer. "Full glass, dolcezza. Can't let it get flat."

She gave him a withering look. "Adrian?"

"Sorry, love; I know none of these songs."

She leaned forward, her eyes pleading as she ran a finger down his arm. "What if I sang with you?"

"Yes!" Draco cheered. "Go!"

"Or …" Hermione shifted and studied Draco. "What if I partnered with Malfoy?"

Marcus snorted.

"What? You don't think the Gryffindor princess and Slytherin prince can team up for a duo?"

"Pretty sure it goes against the law of nature."

Hermione smirked. She loved a challenge. Swinging out of the table, she walked to the deejay booth, aware that everyone was watching as she filled out the slip of paper and handed it to the man.

"You didn't." Draco stated when she returned.

"I guess you'll find out."

"Granger," he warned.

"Malfoy," she giggled. "It'll be fun. What are you afraid of?"

"Right now? You."

She winked and snuggled into Blaise's side. The bills she slipped the deejay with her request ensured that the wait wouldn't be long, though it was entertaining to watch Malfoy squirm.

"You're evil," Blaise murmured in her ear, kissing her lobe softly. "It's an incredibly attractive look."

"Is it?"

"Absolutely," he purred.

She blushed, grateful the lighting was poor so Blaise wouldn't see. He'd yet to kiss her like he did at Siren's Song, but he was constantly touching her, whether it was an arm around her shoulder, his hand in hers, or the brush of his lips somewhere on her body. She wondered what it meant that she could enjoy his attention while claiming the love another wizard. Was Ron right? Had she confused her need to take care of others with love? Ginny brushed off her concerns during a quick conversation in the loo where the redhead spent several minutes gushing over the quiet Quidditch player.

"You're not going to marry him," she cried. "For Merlin's sake Hermione, just go with it!"

Her words echoing in her head, Hermione turned her head to take Blaise's lips, pressing harder when he moaned, his mouth opening slightly so she could slide her tongue inside to duel with his.

"And up next, Hermione and Draco!"

"All right," Ginny cried. "Break it up, kids; the girl has to perform!"

Hermione pulled herself away, smiling at his groan of protest. Slipping from the table, she waited for Draco to join her, the pair walking side-by-side to the stage.

"Your name had to be first, didn't it?"

"Smile, Malfoy," she snickered. "It's time to make every girl in this place want you."

It was the right thing to say. He took the microphone, his usual confidence restored as the music started. Glancing at Hermione for conformation, he opened his mouth and began to sing.

_You walked in, I woke up  
>I've never seen a pretty girl<br>Look so tough, baby  
>You got that look<em>

_Color you peach and black  
>Color me takin' aback<br>Crucial, I think I want ya_

Hermione stepped forward, facing Draco as she sang the chorus.

_You've got the look (You've got the hook)  
>You sho'nuf do be cookin' in my book<br>Your face is jammin'  
>Your body's heck-a-slammin'<br>If love is good  
>Let's get to rammin'<em>

_You got the look  
>You got the look<em>

He smirked, walking forward, forcing Hermione to back up as he took over.

_Look here  
>You got the look (you got the look)<br>You must'a took (you must'a took)  
>A whole hour just to make up your face, baby<br>Closin' time, ugly lights, everybody's inspected (Everybody's inspected)  
>But you are a natural beauty unaffected (Unaffected)<br>Did I say an hour?  
>My face is red, I stand corrected (I stand corrected)<em>

He took her hand, pulling her into him wrapping an arm around her waist. His brows were raised, eyes challenging, as he waited for her reaction. She replied by lifting one arm to encircle his neck, moving closer as the song continued.

_You've got the look  
>You've got the hook<br>You sho'nuf do be cookin' in my book  
>Your face is jammin'<br>Your body's heck-a-slammin'  
>If love is good<br>Let's get to rammin'_

_You got the look  
>You got the look<br>(There's no girl to do)_

_Well here we are, ladies and gentlemen, the dream we all dream of  
>(Oh, please!) Boy versus girl in the World Series of love slammin'<em>

She pushed him away from him, waking across the stage with a sway to her hips. He followed, his eyes never leaving her body as they kept singing.

_You walked in (I walked in)  
>I woke up (you woke up)<br>I never seen such a pretty girl look so tough  
>(I never seen such a pretty girl look so tough)<em>

Draco grabbed her arm, spinning her around so they were face-to-face once more. Neither one broke eye contact as they finished the song.

_Baby (Baby)  
>You got that look (you got that look)<br>Yes you do (Yes you do)  
>Color you peach and black<br>Color me takin' aback, baby  
>Crucial, I think I want ya<em>

_You've got the look  
>You've got the hook<br>You sho'nuf do be cookin' in my book  
>Your face is jammin'<br>Your body's heck-a-slammin'  
>If your love is good<br>Let's get to rammin' (Now)_

_You got the look  
>You got the look<em>

"Huh." Adrian looked at Blaise. "You may need to have a talk with your business partner, son."

* * *

><p>Harry rushed through Grimmuald Place, the sound of his feet pounding on the wooden floor echoing throughout the house as he ran to Sirius' room. It was empty. Slouching against the wall, he tried to think of where else the man would go. He'd already checked The Leaky Cauldron and The Three Broomsticks. He ran down the flight of stairs to Remus' room, his hand poised to knock, when he remembered why he and Sirius chose tonight to go out.<p>

"Damn it!"

He ignored the bubble of panic that had been building ever since Sirius' confession. He knew he was pushing him, forcing him to remember things he probably wanted to forget. He didn't blame Sirius for his parents' deaths. Only Voldemort could be blamed for that. He hated knowing his father, his Godfather, tormented a fellow student, but that didn't make him love Sirius any less. All he wanted was answers, a better understanding of who his father was. He was prepared not to like the response. He was not prepared to break an already-fragile man.

"Think," he groaned, his hand automatically going to the chain around his neck. Looking down, he lifted the medallion from under his shirt. Sighing, he took out his wand. He needed help.

* * *

><p>The burn wasn't sharp, but it was noticeable. Seconds after finishing their song, Hermione jumped as the medallion she charmed into a thick silver knot near the base of her throat tingled against her skin.<p>

"Granger?"

"I'll be right back." She thrust the microphone in Draco's hand and ran to the loo, locking herself in a stall before she pulled out her wand to read the message.

_Home. ASAP. Harry. _

"Hermione?" Ginny entered the room. "Are you all right?"

"Ginny! I've got to go. We've got to go."

"What is it?"

"I don't know; Harry just needs me home."

Ginny's eyes grew wide. Harry wasn't one to panic. "Right, okay." She looked around the bathroom. What were they doing there? They had to go.

"We need to tell the guys."

"Guys. Yes. Let's go."

They opened the door, Hermione not surprised to see Blaise leaning against the wall, waiting. "Hermione, are you –"

"I have to go," she blurted. "I'm sorry, but there's an emergency, something, at home and I have to go."

He looked relieved that she was fine, then concerned as he took in the expression on your face. "Of course. Do you want me to go with you?"

"No. No, thank you. I don't even know what's going on, just that Harry needs me to come home."

"Do you want me to make sure Ginny gets home safely?"

Hermione looked at her friend. She knew Ginny wasn't actively avoiding Harry, but the witch wasn't going out of her way to see him, either.

"No, I'll go with you. I can floo home from Grimmauld Place."

The decision made, the girls rushed back to the table to gather their things, waving away the wizards' offers of assistance. Again, Hermione tried to throw some money on the table, a gesture that made all four bristle. Less than 10 minutes after receiving Harry's message, she and Ginny were gone.

* * *

><p>"Harry!"<p>

Hermione pushed open the front door, Ginny on her heels. She staggered in the entryway, the rush of the apparition not mixing well with the alcohol she'd consumed. She was leaning against the wall, giving herself a few seconds to catch her breath, when Harry came running down the stairs.

"I'm sorry!" he told her, pulling her into a hug, automatically hugging Ginny, too. "I know you were out and believe me, if I knew where to look, I would, but I don't, and he looked so, I don't know, defeated, I thought you might have an idea."

"Whoa, Harry, slow down," Ginny cautioned. "Let's go to the kitchen. We need a Sober Up potion first."

"Did you apparate?" He peered at Hermione's face. She was pale, her skin clammy.

"We weren't near a floo," Ginny replied, taking her friend's arm, leading her to the kitchen.

One potion and two glasses of water later, Hermione was feeling a little better. Ginny had flooed home, understanding that whatever happened was family business, but made them both promise to contact her if they needed help.

"When did this happen?"

Harry shrugged. "Two hours ago?"

"And you went to the pubs?"

He nodded.

She closed her eyes. Where would he go? Most of his hangouts were leftover from his teenage years. Sirius Black hadn't had a place to call his own in more than 15 years. She pushed away from the table and left the kitchen. "I have a few thoughts," she told Harry, making her way to the front door.

"Good; let's go."

"No, you stay here, in case he comes home. Contact me if he does."

"Hermione, I don't want you to get sick -"

She waved away his concern. "I'll be fine. I'll let you know if I find him."

She opened the door and disappeared with a quiet pop.

* * *

><p>He leaned against the wall. He had no idea how long he'd been sitting there. Likely hours, judging by the numbness of his ass. Why was it so cold? It wasn't Azkaban cold, but it was damn close. He stretched, wincing at the cracking sounds in his back. He was too old to be sitting outside some room. Why was he even here? He wasn't going to go inside. If he was, he'd have done it already. He should just go home, just face Harry and get it over with. Sighing, he pulled his legs up, resting his arms on his knees.<p>

That was how she found him, a lone wizard in the quiet hallway, his head hanging down as he maintained a quiet sentry outside Severus Snape's hospital room. Breathing a quiet sigh of relief, she tiptoed to his side, slowly sliding down the wall until she was sitting next to him.

"Hi," she whispered.

"Did Harry send you?"

"He's worried about you."

He scoffed. "He shouldn't."

"Of course he should. He loves you."

He ran a hand down his face. "I don't deserve it."

"Sirius."

"I mean it. What have I ever done for him? If I hadn't insisted James and Lily switch Secret Keepers, they might still be alive. If I hadn't been so fucking angry, maybe Peter would have been arrested instead of me. I'm the reason Harry had to live with the Dursleys. I'm the reason Remus was practically destitute. I'm the reason you got that fucking scar from Dolohov. I'm probably the reason Snape is in that damn hospital bed!"

"It rained this morning," Hermione remarked. "I was planning to walk to the Ministry but couldn't because it was a downpour. Was that your fault, too?"

He lifted his head sharply. "What?"

"You were listing all of the things in this world that were your fault. I assume that includes the weather. Tonks ripped her auror robes when she bumped into the banister the other day. That's your fault. Molly Weasley told me the twins had a minor accident in their lab last week, caused a few of their creations to be lost. That's on you. Oh, and I can't forget the -"

"Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Stop trying to belittle this."

"I'm not belittling anything, Sirius. You believe every terrible thing we've experience was caused by you. I just want to make sure you're thorough as you give yourself an emotional beating."

He pushed himself to his feet and walked down the hall. Scrambling to hers, she followed him, the pair exiting St. Mungo's moments later. Hermione grabbed his arm before he could disappear.

"Let me go."

"No."

"Damn it, Hermione," he shouted, jerking his arm out of her hold. "What the fuck do you want from me?"

She stepped back. "Nothing."

"Nothing? You're telling me the girl who crawled in my bed months ago, the same girl who said she loved me, doesn't want anything? You're telling me you don't see me as some fucking charity case? I know who you are, Hermione. You're the girl who fixes people. You fixed Harry. You fixed Ron. Hell, you're the one who told Remus to get his head out of his ass and go after Tonks. You're not happy unless everyone you know is happy. So fine. Go ahead. Fix me." He took a step back, lifting his arms in surrender. "What have you got, little girl? Take your best shot."

She slapped him. He barely flinched.

"Good answer."

She raised her hand to do it again, but he grabbed her wrist, pulling her close, his gray eyes boring into hers. "I hate you," she hissed. "You are an arrogant, egotistical excuse for a wizard. So your life isn't perfect; crappy childhood, tragic loss. Guess what, Sirius? You aren't the only one with problems!"

She wrenched her wrist out of his grasp, but refused to take a step back. He was in pain, she knew that, but she wasn't going to tiptoe around his emotions anymore. Enough was enough.

"James and Lily were murdered. It was tragic and fucking unfair, but guess what? Their deaths don't belong to you! You aren't the only one who gets to mourn them! A lot of people suffered because they died and a lot of people made poor decisions because of that, but you aren't the catalyst for everything!

"You were a jerk in school? So were a lot of people. You didn't make Professor Snape swear his allegiance to the Dark Lord. Unless you were standing there with a wand at his throat, he made that decision on his own. It's not your fault Harry grew up with the Dursleys. That was Dumbledore's call; be mad at him! It's unfair you lost 12 years of your like in Azkaban, Sirius, I know that, but you're free now! You got out! Your name was cleared! Stop living like you're still in that cell!"

He stared at her, her nostrils flaring, her face flushed. Her curls were wild around her face, having fallen out of her elastic during her apparitions from the Shrieking Shack, to Godric's Hollow to St. Mungo's. He lunged, pulling her to him, his lips crushing hers. She didn't pull away, meeting his unforgiving kiss. He forced her mouth open, sweeping inside, taking what he wanted. His hands went to her face, gripping hard. She brought her hands to his wrists, holding on as he plundered – lips, teeth, tongue. This was nothing like the slow kisses from Blaise, all sweet seduction. This was pain, power. Punishment. He groaned, the sound going straight to her core.

He had to stop. He knew that. His hands were tangled in her hair, too tight. She heard her breath hitch, felt her tense, but he couldn't make himself pull away. She felt … he couldn't describe it. She was his retribution, his absolution; heaven and hell in one little package. She had the power to destroy him. Did she know that? Would he ever admit it? He'd put his life back together so many time and this witch, this little girl, she was the one who could break him for good, to make it so he'd never be whole again.

He pressed closer, but it wasn't close enough. He raised his head. Where were they? Where could they go? He grabbed her hand, dragged her around the corner to a darkened alleyway. He pushed her against the brick and slapped his hands on either side of her body, caging her in.

"You should be afraid of me," he warned.

"I'm not."

"I'll hurt you."

"You won't."

"How?" he rasped, laying his forehead against hers.

She raised a hand to push his dark hair off his forehead, running her hand down the dark stubble on his cheek. So beautiful. Even now, with the anger of their words still burning in his gray eyes, he was beautiful.

"You're a good man, Sirius."

He shook his head, his shoulders shaking as he bent forward, resting his head on the swell of her breasts, his hands still pressed on either side of her. She didn't argue, only lifted her hands to run through his dark hair, saying nothing when she felt his tears against her skin.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: More legalities: I do not own Prince's ****_U Got The Look _or Joan Jett & The Blackhearts'_ I Love Rock 'N Roll_****.**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Thank you so much for your comments, compliments and thoughts on the last chapter. They warm my frozen toes in this wintery land I call home. **

**Legalities: I do not own Harry Potter. These characters belong to J.K. Rowling and Scholastic, Inc. **

* * *

><p>"So, everything's OK?"<p>

Hermione shrugged at Ginny's question, the two girls spending the final minutes before the redhead had to board the Hogwarts Express to catch up on what happened after they'd separated the night before. Hermione left out the details of what sent Sirius running and where she found him. She eliminated their kiss, too; at least until she figured out what it meant. Instead, she told Ginny that Sirius and Harry were dealing with things the best they could.

Hermione had no idea how long she and Sirius stood in that deserted alley before he raised his head, eyes dry, and took her hand. She expected to return to Grimmauld Place, but instead they walked. Neither one said anything as they ambled the quiet streets for nearly an hour before Sirius pulled her to him for a side-along apparition. Standing on the front steps of their shared home, he kissed her forehead, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, and finally her lips. It was a sweet kiss, so soft that if their eyes hadn't been locked on one another, she wouldn't be completely sure it happened. Stepping back, he opened the door, Harry appearing seconds later, his arms around Sirius before the older wizard had even walked inside. Hermione ducked around the pair, leaving them alone as she went to bed.

"Granger?"

She shook herself from her thoughts, smiling at the cheerful faces of Fred and George, who also came to see their sister off.

"I feel like a first year," Ginny grumbled. Her parents were there, as were Bill and Fleur. Ron was present, too, but he was too busy snogging Luna to pay attention to anyone else.

"You're our baby sister," George laughed, picking her up and swinging her in a circle, his actions wiping the pout from her face. "This is your last year! Of course we're going to make a spectacle of ourselves."

"In fact," Fred looked over his shoulder to ensure his mother was otherwise occupied, "we brought something to make this sendoff particularly memorable."

"Fred," Hermione warned him.

"Hermione," he smirked.

"Don't."

"What are you going to do, love? You can't threaten me with the loss of house points anymore."

"Not that that ever worked in the first place," George added.

"You are 20 years old!"

"Exactly. We're not dead."

"Ginny, you're a prefect; do something!" Hermione pleaded. Her friend, though, was staring at something over her brother's shoulder, not listening to the conversation. Hermione turned to see what grabbed Ginny's attention. The twins did, too.

"Why is Marcus Flint here?" Fred glowered; memories of playing Quidditch against the Slytherin chaser wiping his usual cheerful expression form his face.

"Be good," Hermione murmured, raising her hand in a greeting. The tall wizard glanced at the twins, barely masking his look of distaste before joining the group.

"Weasleys," he greeted the twins in a cool voice. "Hermione," he said in a warmer tone, leaning down to kiss her cheek. "Ginny," he continued, taking her hand and kissing the back of her hand. She nodded, still not saying anything. Marcus didn't let go of her hand. Hermione looked back and forth between the two, well aware that the clock was ticking and that one of the two wizards at her back was prepared to don his big brother persona.

"Hey," she cried. "Did you hear they have Honeydukes chocolate on the sweet cart?"

"Huh?" Fred asked.

"Yeah! Let's go get some for Remus."

"What?"

Hermione huffed and nudged George.

"What the –" he looked at Hermione, glanced at his sister and looked back at Hermione. "Oh. Chocolate, right; I thought that was just a rumor. Let's go!"

He grabbed his brother by the arm, tugging him away, Hermione on their heels. Marcus watched it all with an amused expression. "You've got to admire the Gryffindor subtlety."

"What are you doing here?" Ginny asked.

"There it is again," he smirked.

"Marcus …"

He took her hand. "We didn't get a chance to say a proper goodbye last night," he told her, moving closer so that he was standing directly in front of her. "I had to rectify that."

"Don't you have practice?" she asked dumbly. She knew he played for Puddlemere United. They talked about it the night before.

"We didn't get a chance to say a proper goodbye last night," he repeated before leaning down to kiss her. Other than the hand that held hers, his lips were the only part of his body that touched hers, though barely. Ginny whimpered, standing on her toes to deepen his ghost of a kiss, but he pulled away. "I'll owl you, Ginny Weasley," he promised, squeezing her hand lightly before he walked away.

* * *

><p>"Why is that snake kissing our sister, Hermione?" Fred growled, his face pressed against the window. Hermione had pushed him and his brother in the first empty compartment they came across, using her wand to seal the door shut.<p>

"I assume he likes her."

"What?! No. That is not allowed."

She put her hands on her hips. "Excuse me?"

"Not allowed!" he repeated.

George was calmer. "What did you do last night?"

"We went to a club."

"Where?"

"Muggle London."

"Who invited the Slytherins?"

"I did."

"Great!" Fred shouted. "Let's just invite the Slytherins to everything from now on, OK? Mum and Dad were talking about having everyone over for dinner Sunday night. Do you think Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy could bring dessert?"

Hermione laughed. "What is your problem?"

"They're evil!"

"They are not evil! One of them is helping finance your expansion plans!"

"Two, actually," George interrupted.

"Whose side are you on?" Fred yelled at his brother.

"I'm on Ginny's. Come on, Fred; you saw how much she's been hurting since ending things with Harry."

"That doesn't mean she should go out and hook up with Marcus Flint!"

"She did not hook up with Marcus," Hermione cried. "I was there last night. They talked. They have a lot in common. He made her laugh."

"I make her laugh! That doesn't mean I'm going to kiss her on the platform in front of everybody!"

Hermione and George gawked at Fred. He rarely lost his temper. When he did, practicality went out the window.

"No offense, brother mine, but that's a disturbing visual," George informed him.

"No, what just happened is a disturbing visual."

"This is ridiculous," Hermione scoffed. "It was a kiss! I've seen you do a lot more, Fred Weasley – and with women you barely know!"

He opened his mouth to respond, but George had the foresight to clamp a hand over his mouth. Using age or gender in this argument would not end well for him.

"But okay," she continued. "I'll unlock the door so you can go yell at Ginny. Tell her she can't talk to Marcus Flint. _I dare you_."

Fred paused. He loved his sister, but he hated her Bat-Bogey hex. Rubbing his nose, he considered his options. "I'm going to every Hogwarts Quidditch game," he promised Hermione. "If I see her cheering for the Slytherins, I'm blaming you."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Fine."

"Fine," he repeated. "Now that that's settled, does the sweet cart really sell Honeydukes?"

* * *

><p>"What do you mean there's no money!?"<p>

Hermione could not believe the day she was having. First she had to deal with a rare Fred Weasley rage. Then she had to calm Ginny down about Marcus' unexpected kiss. Then she had to make both twins swear they wouldn't say anything to Ron and Harry, which they only promised to if she swore to look the other way the next three times they pulled a public prank. The Ministry of Magic was supposed to be relaxing. She'd drafted a letter for wizarding artists to submit memorial designs and planned to send it out after Kingsley's approval. That's why he was in her office. He was not there to tell her she no longer had the money to pay for the memorial.

She groaned, feeling the familiar throb at the base of her skull. Apparently the migraine that usually plagued her after multiple apparations in a given day realized it didn't make its presence known last night and was prepared to rectify the situation.

"Kingsley, you told me there was money for a consultant about the memorial. I took this position so the Ministry wouldn't have to pay some exorbitant fee with nothing to show for it. It was agreed that we would use that money to build the memorial!" Hermione planted her hands on either side of her desk, rising from her chair to glare at the man sitting across from her.

"We did, but the Wizengamot felt differently." Kingsley refused to give into the urge to rub his temples. He spent years learning how to control his emotions, to maintain a calm and steady persona at all times. It's a skill that served him well as an auror and even better as a politician. It also came in handy during poker games, unless he was playing Bill Weasley. "They voted to roll that money into Hogwarts' reconstruction fund."

Hermione flounced in her chair. At least the money would be helping the school and not filling someone's pockets. "So, that's it? No memorial?"

"I didn't say that. I simply informed you that you no longer had a budget."

"Right. No money. No ideas how to get money," she said ticking the issues off on her fingers. "I can totally pull off a memorial honoring those who lost their lives in the way by May 2. I'm a witch, right? Point me to the book of spells called _Asinine Decisions and How to Fix Them_, will you?"

He hid his smile. She was fun to watch when she was worked up about something. "I have faith that you'll come up with something. Take a week. Do some brainstorming. We'll take next Monday." Rising, he left her miniscule office. It was small, but she didn't require much space, event when Harry took one look and said it made his cupboard under the stairs look like a Penthouse. He apologized when her eyes filled with tears. She hated hearing about his life with the Dursleys.

Sighing, Hermione pushed back from her desk, the back of her chair grazing the wall. She wasn't obligated to keep set hours in her position though her own sense of responsibility had her at her desk for three hours every day. Not today, though. Judging by her mood, it would be best for everyone if she wasn't there when the Wizengamot reconvened that afternoon.

Stuffing several parchments of scribbled notes in her battered book bag, she considered her options. She could go home, but she didn't feel like talking to any of her housemates or, if she was honest with herself, she didn't want to talk to Sirius. The longer she put off that conversation, the longer she could avoid his apology for the most amazing kiss of her life that he likely regretted. She could go to a coffee house or a park, but she didn't want to spend the afternoon alone, either. The way she felt, solitude would lead to moping. Walking to the Ministry's atrium, she stepped inside on of the floos.

"St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries."

* * *

><p>Sirius knocked on his friend's bedroom door, grateful that the low voice that called "Come in" sounded alert. He walked inside, two mugs of tea in his hand as a peace offering. Remus' temperament the day of a full moon was shaky at best. Normally, Sirius would lay low and let him rest for the night ahead, but desperate times call for desperate measures.<p>

"It smells like a brothel in here."

Remus walked out of the bathroom, rubbing his damp hair with a towel, a pair of well-worn trousers hanging low on his lanky frame. "Remember Daisy; the Ravenclaw? Remember the no-commenting-on-each-other's-sex-lives rule after learning how well we all knew Daisy?"

Sirius smirked. "I do."

"It still applies." Remus pulled a gray T-shirt over his head, taking the mug of tea with a grunt of thanks. Sitting on one of the two armchairs by the fireplace, he gestured for Sirius to take the other. "So, want to tell me why you spent the last hour pacing the hall?"

Damn werewolf senses. "Harry asked about James last night, specifically memories he saw of James and Snape."

Remus grimaced.

"I didn't handle it well, Moony."

"What does that mean?"

Sirius sighed. "We tortured Snape; James and I."

"I did, too."

"Please. We both know James and I were the instigators. He saw his friendship with Lily as an obstacle and I saw a Slytherin, someone I could punish for every fucking thing my family did to me."

"Don't take full responsibility, Padfoot," Remus cautioned. "I may not have physically harmed Snape, but I didn't do anything to stop you or James. In my mind, and definitely in his, that makes me just as guilty."

Sirius stood up and paced the bedroom. "He really was on the Order's side?"

"Yes. His loyalty to Voldemort was constantly tested. I'm not privy to details, but I saw him a few times after he was summoned. If that's what he looked like days later, I don't want to begin to imagine what he endured."

"Why'd he do it, Moony? Why allow yourself to be used that way, by both sides?"

Remus had asked himself those very questions. There were times he questioned Snape's allegiance, especially after Dumbledore's death. When the truth came out, when Harry testified that the plot was something Dumbledore and Snape concocted to save Draco Malfoy and prove Snape's fidelity once and for all, Remus felt sick. It took him weeks to gather the courage to visit Snape at St. Mungo's, to try and apologize for his actions.

"He had his reasons," he surmised. "What they are, what they were … if Snape chose to share them with Harry, he's keeping them to himself."

Sirius stopped pacing. "I told Harry the truth. I didn't want to be the one to lessen James in his eyes. I should've taken the blame for everything, but he knew too much, saw too much. I didn't deny it. I told him I'm the reason Snape became a Death Eater, probably the reason his parents were killed."

"I wasn't aware that everything wrong in our lives was your fault."

He snorted. "Hermione said the same thing."

"She's a smart one, our Hermione."

"She is," Sirius agreed, walking back to his chair. "She found me last night; tried to talk me out of my mood."

"And how'd that work out?"

"I yelled at her. She slapped me, so I kissed her."

Remus wasn't surprised. If anything, he was surprised it took that long. The tension between the two was so great, he worried what he could potentially come across when walking into any room the pair occupied. "That better be all you did, Padfoot," he warned.

"Feeling protective, Moony?"

"She's Harry's best friend. You want to ease any hostility you have with him, I suggest not sleeping with his best friend."

"Fair enough, but Harry and I are OK. We talked when I got home. He tried to apologize, but I wouldn't hear it. There are some things I shouldn't be forgiven for."

Remus leaned forward, his expression serious as he faced his friend. "You can't keep blaming yourself, Sirius. Sooner or later, you need to figure out how to let go and move on."

"Have you?"

"More or less."

"How'd you do it?"

Remus finished his tea and considered his next words carefully. He was no stranger to guilt, to remorse. In the years he was alone, he constantly questioned his past actions. What did he do that pushed Sirius to betray James and Lily? When he learned Peter was the traitor, he had to learn how to cope with the guilt of believing that Sirius would betray James. Having Tonks in his life helped. He didn't want her at first. Believing himself unworthy, he did everything he could to discourage her feelings, but trying to push Nymphadora Tonks away was the equivalent of moving a herd of hippogriffs with only a quill as a weapon. She pulled him out of his cloud of sorrow, of guilt, which at that point had become somewhat of a security blanket. He couldn't be hurt if he didn't give himself the opportunity to be hurt.

He wasn't so blind to see that Sirius had built similar walls. He was a complex individual; more multifaceted than he led others to believe. He was no longer the anxious 11-year-old who tensed at physical contact, but years in Azkaban destroyed the carefree playboy he'd become. No one expected him to bounce back from 12 years of hell automatically, but it seemed the longer he was free, the more solitary he became. Several witches approached Sirius when they went to the pub the other night. He didn't respond to any of them. Remus had applauded his friend's newfound maturity at the time, but maybe it was more than that. Maybe he wasn't simply avoiding casual sex, but holding out for something more; that is, if he ever let himself believe he deserved something more.

"It's Hermione, isn't it?"

Sirius didn't respond, though he flinched slightly.

"If you're worried about Harry – "

"I'm not worried about Harry; I'm worried about Hermione! She thinks she loves me. Or she said so once. Last night she said she hates me, so maybe I'm off the hook, but I don't want to be off the hook! I look at her, I'm near her, and I have this urge … I can't even describe it. For the longest time, it wasn't physical, but a kind of comfort. She was so young, but not at the same time. Being around her, it scared the hell out of me, but also provided contentment I hadn't felt since you, Prongs and I would run around the Forbidden Forest. She felt like home, Moony. I'd tell myself to stay away, not to soil someone who deserves so much more, but there are times I think she's the only one keeping me sane, but I'll never know for sure because I ruined it before it even started!"

"How?"

"I pushed her away. I ran away. Every time she's reached for me, I've turned the other way. I don't … part of me doesn't want to feel what she makes me feel. I don't want her to have that power. I don't think I could take it if someone I cared about was taken from me again."

"So instead of admitting how you feel, of potentially experiencing something that could change the course of your life, you're going to hide?" Remus asked. "You are going to watch her date other men, maybe even marry one, and say nothing?"

Sirius didn't respond.

"Padfoot?"

"Remember Bill's wedding? You said I looked at her like I want her."

"And you told me she's too young, that someday she'd have the world at her feet and you wouldn't hold her back."

"I want to mean it. I want to, but I can't."

"What are you saying?" Remus asked.

Sirius started pacing again. "I'm saying I want her. I'm saying ... I think I love her. I'm saying I need to find a way to make her see that, make her believe that. I'm saying I need to make myself worthy of her."

* * *

><p>She was pacing the hospital room, her hands waving erratically as she repeated her conversation with Kingsley verbatim.<p>

"Have I mentioned I'm honored you've chosen to share your latest crisis with me?" Severus drawled when Hermione paused to take a breath.

"What am I going to do? There needs to be a memorial. We can't let the dead be forgotten. It's not even four months gone and people are going on with their lives as if the war never happened."

"Isn't that the point of victory; to live a normal life?"

Hermione huffed, hating her professor's ability to ask the question that weakened her argument. Yes, of course everyone should move on with their lives. Their world needed to rebuild, and holding on to grudges, drowning in sorrow, was not the way to do it. But that didn't mean the ones who can't move on should be left behind.

Severus raised an eyebrow, waiting for Hermione to answer. When she simply crossed her arms and glared at him, he allowed the ghost of a smile to grace his features briefly. "While I understand your frustration, Miss Granger, the situation is not as dire as you believe. Listen," he demanded when she opened her mouth to argue. "There are ways to raise the finds you seek and people willing to donate in order to show their remorse for what transpired."

"Purebloods."

He nodded. "Some would do anything to show they do regret their actions in the war."

"So I should just knock on the door of every pureblood's home with my hand out, hoping they'll fill it with galleons?"

"That could prove effective, Miss Granger, but surely even you are above such uncivilized behavior."

Hermione whipped her head to the doorway, her eyes settling on Lucius Malfoy. The blond was impeccably dressed as always, his expression amused as gray eyes met hers. Could this day get any worse?

"Mr. Malfoy," she greeted him with a grimace that only someone feeling generous would call a smile. "How are you?"

"I am well, Miss Granger. I apologize for eavesdropping, but I'm not as privy to the inner-workings of the Ministry as I once was."

"I've heard playing host to an evil wizard hell-bent on murdering half of the population has that effect."

Lucius' smile was cold. "Touché, Miss Granger."

Severus watched the exchange with interest, nearly regretting his decision to step in and divert their attention to a different matter. "Lucius, as you heard, Miss Granger is responsible for the creation of a memorial as Hogwarts to honor those who lost their lives in the war."

"Wars," Hermione corrected. "Nothing was ever erected to honor those who perished in the first war. This memorial will be a testament to their sacrifice, too."

Lucius swept into the room, though he ignored the chair by his friend's bed, preferring to remain on his feet as he eyed the witch looking at him with equal parts aversion and indifference. He never gave much thought to Hermione Granger, considering her below him in spite of her obvious intelligence and his son's newfound interest in the Muggle-born witch. He was, however, curious about the task she was pursuing. He was telling the truth when he said his opinion and money did not command the level of respect it once had. Humility was not a feeling he was comfortable with and if playing nice with Harry Potter's friend had the ability to restore the Malfoy name, he would not refuse the opportunity, though he knew if he offered his help, she would throw it back in his face.

"If you're not attached to your begging for galleons idea, might I offer a suggestion?"

Hermione scoffed. "Sure; why not? This has been a strange day already. You might as well add to it."

"My wife has experience hosting fundraisers. While this project is different than her previous undertakings, I'm sure she would be willing to share her proficiencies with you."

Hermione considered his suggestion. She'd only had one interaction with Narcissa Malfoy and as she was being tortured at the time, it wasn't the best first impression, but she did remember that the woman seemed less hate-fueled than her sister. It wouldn't hurt to meet her, especially in a public place.

"All right," she agreed slowly, walking to the other chair where she threw her bag when she first arrived. Sifting through the mess of parchment for a blank page, she started taking items out, piling them in Lucius' arms. The blond glanced at Severus who returned his bland look with one of his own.

Hermione scribbled a quick note to Narcissa Malfoy, inviting her to lunch Monday at Seamus' restaurant, deciding it was the closest thing to her turf. "Please give this to your wife with my sincere gratitude," she told Lucius, passing him the letter and hiding her grin as he balanced her mass of papers in one hand, accepting the parchment with the other. She took the pile back from him and returned them to her bag, pulling the worn leather strap over her shoulder. "Now, I will take my leave so you can catch up. Thank you, sir, for listening to my tirade."

"Compelling as always, Miss Granger," Severus said in a mocking tone.

She smiled, knowing his sharp words were for Lucius' sake. Nodding to both wizards, she left the room, feeling somewhat optimistic. Her personal life may be a mess, but her professional life looked like it was on an upswing.

She'd take it.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Sirius has figured out what he wants. Will he get it? **

**Legalities: I do not own Harry Potter. These characters belong to J.K. Rowling and Scholastic, Inc. **

* * *

><p>Sirius strode through the Ministry of Magic, his presence making some stop and stare while others hurried along, avoiding eye contact with the unlawfully imprisoned man whose name was once uttered with the same level of fear as Lord Voldemort. He ignored everyone, even the witches who whispered and giggled, the sight of him in Muggle jeans and a midnight blue T-shirt making them forget that they were in a place of government, not a pub.<p>

"'A man who cannot take care of himself can't take care of his woman,'" Remus had told him. Sirius took the weekend to think about what that meant, going for a long ride on his motorcycle, a run as Padfoot, and even walking to the café Hermione had taken him to the week before. He lay in his bed, unable to sleep, his mind working nonstop as he tried to understand everything that had happened and everything he was feeling. His only company in his self-imposed exile was Crookshanks. For some reason, the furball had become a permanent fixture at the foot of his bed, his incessant purring providing a level of comfort when his brain would not let him rest. While he told himself he was distancing himself from his housemates in order to sort his thoughts, he knew he also was purposely avoiding Hermione, at least until he figured out a course of action. The last thing he wanted was a conversation in which she dismissed the best kiss of his life. He'd be damned if he let her take the memory of it from him.

"Can I help you?"

Sirius eyed the witch sitting at the desk outside Kingsley's office. Another lifetime and he might have regarded her with interest. She was tall, shapely and blond, with nary a hair out of place, and certainly without a smattering of freckles on her face. Sirius hadn't never given much thought to freckles, but after getting close enough to count the ones scattered on Hermione's cheeks and nose, he had a new fantasy that involved kissing every single freckle on her body.

He sincerely hoped they weren't restricted to her face.

"Sirius Black to see Minister Shacklebolt. I don't have an appointment -"

"Of course, Mr. Black," the woman practically purred. "If you'll have a seat, I'll let the Minister know you're here."

He did, smirking as he imagined what Hermione would say about the woman's helpful manner. He remembered her rant about Kingsley's incompetent receptionist and filed away this memory to goad her the next time she was being unreasonable.

"Sirius!" the door opened and Kingsley strode to the waiting area, holding one hand to greet his friend. "I don't think you've graced this building with your presence since …" He trailed off, suddenly remembering the last time Sirius was at the Ministry was the night he was nearly killed by Bellatrix Lestrange. He didn't attend the hearing that officially proclaimed his innocence.

"Making new memories, Kings," he said smoothly, nodding when the dark-skinned wizard clasped a hand on his shoulder.

"Well, come on in then. You've caught me at a quiet moment. They are rare, my friend, but I'm happy to share it with you," he said, ushering him into his office. "Miss Harris, could you please arrange tea?"

"Yes, sir."

Kingsley shut the door and returned to his seat behind his desk. Sirius took one look at the piles of papers and shuddered. "I know," Kingsley regarded the mess. "Truth be told, the mess bothers me, but it annoys Hermione like you wouldn't believe. Sometimes her reaction is the only entertainment I see all week."

Sirius smirked. "I had no idea you were such a sadist."

Kingsley shrugged good-naturedly. "Speaking of sadists, did you get a package from Bill?"

"I did; you?"

Kingsley nodded. "He never fails to pay back what he received unfairly."

"Wait; you knew he cheated?"

"He always cheats. It doesn't matter what anti-cheating spells and charms we use; he gets around them."

"Then why do you play poker with him?" Sirius was incredulous. When Hermione told him of Bill's ability, he assumed it was a one-time incident. Kingsley treated it as common knowledge.

"To see if I can catch him," Kingsley said as if the answer was obvious. "He doesn't do it every hand, or even every game, so it's a challenge. I tell you, it's a good thing that man never was seduced by Dark Magic. He is quite skilled. I think Hermione is the only one he can't fool and neither one will tell me his tell."

Sirius shook his head. Just when he thought he had a handle on the people he considered his friends, he uncovered a new layer to their personalities. He wondered briefly if living with someone for years was the only reason he knew Remus as well as he did. Of course, he felt that way about Peter … He pushed aside that thought. He was trying to do what Remus suggested and learn to live in the present instead of the past. He wasn't sure if he'd ever truly forgive himself for everything that had happened, but he appreciated the "Promise to live a better future" mantra his friend had adopted. That's what brought him to the Ministry.

"So, last week, probably when Bill was taking our money, you mentioned my family's seat in the Wizengamot."

"Yes," Kingsley waved his hand to allow Miss Harris in with the tea, waiting until she left before speaking again. "A Black has not served in years, as the position was passed to you upon the death of your father. Circumstances made it impossible for you to assume the responsibility," he continued, ignoring Sirius' snort of amusement at his choice of words, "but now that you're name has been cleared, I wanted to bring it to your attention."

"You understand that sitting with some of the individuals who condemned me is not high on my list of things I look forward to."

"I do, just as you understand that I'm working to rid the Ministry of corruption. Having someone I know, someone I trust, in the Wizengamot goes a long way in making our government a fair entity. Also, there are several issues coming up for debate that may be of interest to you, including the nullification of the werewolf laws Delores Umbridge championed."

Sirius studied Kingsley. "That's low, dangling something that could make Remus' life better in front of me."

"Did you honestly expect me not to bring out the big guns?"

* * *

><p>Hermione fidgeted with the cutlery, her nerves making it impossible for her to sit calmly as she waited for Narcissa Malfoy to arrive. She had no reason to be anxious. The woman's response to her invitation had been courteous. A woman who planned to make her miserable wouldn't be so gracious, right?<p>

"You look like you're going to be sick. That's not going to help business."

Hermione looked up at Seamus Finnigan, his impish grin making it impossible to not to smile in return. She always had a soft-spot for the pyrotechnic-inclined wizard. She was pleased he found his calling in cooking as any other career path made her fear for his safety.

"As if you need to worry about business," Hermione scoffed, glancing around the large dining room that was nearly full and it wasn't quite yet noon. "I think I'm going to need a reservation the next time I want to eat here."

Seamus laughed. He had promised Hermione, all of his investors, really, that The Lion's Share would always have room for them. This restaurant was his dream. It still amazed him that it came true.

"You look great," he said, taking a seat at the table, confident that his staff could handle the kitchen for a few minutes without him. "Hot date?"

Hermione blushed, looking down at her pale purple polka dot dress to reassure herself, again, that it was appropriate. She wasn't sure if Narcissa would have an issue with a sleeveless dress, so she paired it with a pale yellow cardigan and one of the wide belts Tonks stocked in her closet. "I wouldn't say that exactly," she began, her words trailing off as she watched Narcissa sweep inside, her usual elitist expression on her pale face.

Seamus turned to see what captured his friend's attention. "Bloody hell; what's she doing here?" Seamus whispered, his mouth dropping open as the hostess led the woman towards them. He stood up quickly, his knees jostling the table. Hermione stood, too, placing a hand on her friend to help ease his nerves.

"Miss Granger," Narcissa greeted her formally.

"Mrs. Malfoy. Thank you so much for joining me."

"Of course. I've heard wonderful things about this restaurant and have been curious to try it for myself," she replied.

Seamus looked between the two women in fascination. Hermione nudged his arm, the gesture making him shut his mouth. "Might I introduce the owner and chef, Seamus Finnigan. Seamus, Narcissa Malfoy."

Seamus took Narcissa's offered hand, shaking it a bit too enthusiastically, though she was polite enough not to mention it. "Mrs. Malfoy, it's a pleasure to have you. Not have you! I mean, it's a pleasure for me … no, what I mean to say it … it's a pleas – thank you for visiting."

Hermione closed her eyes and wished for an explosion in the kitchen; anything to save Seamus from his current predicament. Luckily, he recovered; seating the pureblood witch smoothly and helping Hermione take her seat, too, before excusing himself.

"I apologize," Hermione began, placing the crimson tablecloth in her lap. "Seamus has always been an enthusiastic sort."

Narcissa waved her hand, more charmed than she'd ever admit. It had been some time since her presence made a wizard stammer. "If women concerned themselves with the ramblings of men, we'd never get anything accomplished, don't you agree?"

Hermione laughed, wondering if the snatches of humor she'd gleaned from Draco were his mother's doing. Opening her menu, Hermione snuck a peek at the woman who was studying the listings intently. "I can vouch for nearly everything. I was privy to many practice dishes prior to the opening."

"As was my son," Narcissa offered.

"Draco is an investor?"

Narcissa smiled. "Come now, Miss Granger. You and Draco might not be the best of friends, but surely you know that he needs to have a hand in anything he deems a potential success."

Hermione smirked. "Like father, like son?"

"Of course."

Nearly two hours later, Hermione had forgotten why she was ever nervous in Narcissa Malfoy's present. An unspoken agreement between the two guaranteed that neither would mention the other time they were in each other's company, making it easy for Hermione to giggle over Narcissa's impression of Professor McGonagall after the witch had caught her sneaking around Hogwarts with Lucius their sixth year.

"There are times I still can't look that woman in the eye," Narcissa admitted. "When Draco owled first year to complain about his scary transfiguration professor, all Lucius and I could say was 'Don't get on her bad side.'"

Hermione shook her head. "And now you've made it difficult for me to look at her - and I have an appointment to see her next week!"

The two women started laughing again, their hilarity drawing curious glances from others in the room.

"Mrs. Malfoy -"

"Narcissa. Please."

"All right, but you must call me Hermione."

The blond nodded.

"I've so enjoyed my afternoon with you and I love your idea for a fundraiser for the memorial."

"I'm glad. I do believe it will serve a dual purpose. First, of course, raising funds for the project, but second, giving those who have survived the opportunity to celebrate, together. Unity is so important at this time."

"I completely agree. If you don't mind, I'd like to talk to the Minister about what we've discussed, presenting it as a joint project between the two of us."

Narcissa was flattered. "Really, Hermione, you don't need to do that. I know the Malfoy name is not what it was and I don't want to do anything that would jeopardize your success."

"With all due respect, if Kingsley can't look beyond what's happened in the past, if the public can't see past their own prejudice, then we have other things to concern ourselves with than this memorial," Hermione said fiercely. "I believed him when he said it's time to move forward. This is an opportunity to see how many of us are prepared to do so."

Narcissa tilted her head, admiring the fiery little witch in front of her. She hadn't been sure she should accept Hermione's invitation to lunch. Unlike her husband, she was not so concerned with her lack of political and social clout since the war. After spending nearly two years fearing for the life of her son ad husband, peace and quiet was all she wanted. Still, the opportunity to get involved and make a difference, a positive difference, ignited something in her she thought long dormant. And her idea … it was something she had proposed amongst the pureblood societal groups, but it was never met with the same level of enthusiasm Hermione had. It was infectious, really. She could understand Draco's fascination with the girl and Lucius' reluctant regard.

"I will contact you after I talk with Kingsley?" Hermione asked as both stood to take their leave.

"I look forward to it," Narcissa replied.

The pair stood outside The Lion's Share, unsure of how to part ways, when I voice interrupted.

"Granger!"

The two women looked over.

"Mother?"

"Draco, darling," Narcissa purred, holding her hands out to her son as he hurried towards them. Hermione watched as he hugged his mother, the older woman pushing back a lock of his blond hair as she smiled fondly at him. "What brings you to Diagon Alley this afternoon?"

"Blaise and I had a meeting. Why are the two of you here? Together?"

"Nervous?" Hermione teased.

"Quite," Draco nodded.

Narcissa laughed delightedly. "Calm yourself, son. We had a nice business meeting and now, I must get home before your father send out a search party. Hermione, I look forward to hearing from you. Draco, will you be home for dinner tonight?"

"Um, yeah."

"Excellent." Giving her son another hug, Narcissa walked away.

"I don't know if I like the idea of you and my mother becoming friendly," Draco eyed Hermione suspiciously.

"Knowing you feel that way, I plan to endear myself to her even more," Hermione grinned wickedly.

* * *

><p>Hermione tried to excuse herself from Draco to return to the Ministry and draft her proposal for Kingsley, but he wouldn't hear of it. Taking Hermione's arm, he led her away from Seamus' restaurant.<p>

"Blaise would be quite upset to know I saw you and he didn't," he said, overriding her protests.

Hermione didn't know how to reply. She had not seen Blaise since karaoke night, though he had sent two owls, one asking her out to dinner. She had made a flimsy excuse citing work, not wanting to see the wizard until she knew what Sirius' kiss meant, but she couldn't tell Draco that.

"Where are we?" she asked when they stopped in front of a large and obviously abandoned building. It stood four stories high, several windows boarded and the ones that we not covered in several inches of grime. She watched as Draco pushed the double doors open, flinching at the scent that wafted from the space.

"Come on," he said not even looking to see if she followed.

Hermione took her wand out of her purse. Mumbling _Lumos _under her breath, she held the wand out as a light and walked inside. "Hello?"

"Hermione?"

"Blaise?" She looked around, unable to see anything more than three feet in front of her. Blaise's voice echoed in the large space, her own reply bouncing back at her. She took another cautious step inside.

"Piccola!"

Hermione jumped at the arms that wrapped around her, Blaise lifting her to her feet and twirling her around. "Welcome!"

"To where? Where am I?"

"Just only the greatest and most exclusive club in Diagon Alley," Draco smirked from the balcony a floor above them. He waved his wand, bathing the building in light.

"What?"

"We bought it," Blaise said, stepping back with his arms out. "As of this morning, it's ours."

Hermione turned around slowly, trying to imagine what they saw that made them smile so big in the broken and dirty space. The main floor was wide open with a raised platform dominating the west wall. Tilting her head back, she could imagine private rooms on the upper levels. It would take a lot of work and, well, magic, but looking at the excited faces of the two wizards, she believed they were up to the challenge.

"I thought your plan was to invest in others' ideas."

"It still is," Draco joined the couple on the main floor. "But then we thought 'Why should they have all the fun?'"

She laughed at his arrogance, but she knew if their club was anything like the places she'd visited in London, it would be an amazing success.

"Congratulations!" she leaned over to hug Draco, the surprised blond standing still as her arms went around him. When she turned to Blaise to do repeat the gesture, he shifted so she was in his arms, dipping her low before kissing her.

"See? Already the witches are swooning," Draco joked.

Blaise stood, bringing Hermione up with him, keeping one arm around her waist. "We celebrate tonight and tomorrow … Tomorrow the work begins."

"I'm happy for you."

"Come out with us tonight."

"I couldn't; it sounds like a business partner evening."

"Dolcezza, I see Draco nearly every day as it is. Once work begins, I will see him every day. He's pretty -"

"Thanks, Zabini."

"But he's not you."

Hermione smiled shakily. Part of her wanted to say yes. She had fun whenever she went out with Blaise, but when his lips were on hers, she flashed back to Sirius, the way his hands had gripped her face and his kiss dominated her, controlled her. She couldn't do this, see one man while thinking about another. It wasn't in her character. She leaned towards Blaise and whispered in his ear. "Could I talk to you? Privately?"

"Is everything all right?"

"Please?" she asked, taking his hand and tugging him toward the door. He followed, telling Draco he'd be back in a minute. Once they were outside, Hermione tucked her wand in her purse. She took a few steps away from the building, in case Draco was listening, then turned toward Blaise. "I don't think I should see you anymore."

In true Slytherin style, his expression didn't change. "Why is that?"

"I … " she turned away, walked a few steps, and turned back. "I like you."

No reaction.

"But before we ran into each other, before we went out, I had feelings for another man. Deep feelings. It didn't … I can't even say it didn't work out, but it never actually evolved into anything to not work out. He left and then he came back and my feelings … they're confusing."

Still no reaction.

"I don't want to hurt you, Blaise," she walked forward until she could take both of her hands in his. "When I'm with you … you make me feel beautiful. Young. I know that sounds stupid, but I never really got the chance to act my age and when I'm with you, I get to be what was lost. You make me laugh. Your kisses make me weak. I did not expect you, Blaise."

"I didn't expect you," he replied.

She smiled. "See? I'm telling you I shouldn't see you anymore and you say something like that. I can't wrap my head around you."

"You never actually said why you shouldn't see me, Hermione. Instead, you gave the reasons why we should continue to explore this."

"I kissed him!"

"Who?"

"Him! The man I have feelings for," she confessed, tears welling in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Blaise. I didn't plan on it. I didn't plan on you. I'm sorry."

The tears were falling down her cheeks. Blaise didn't hesitate. He pulled her to him, his arms tight around her, one hand rubbing circles on her lower back as she cried softly into his shoulder. He pressed his lips to the top of her head. He didn't expect her, either. When he asked her out the first time, it was to prove something to his friends. She's Hermione Granger; the Gryffindor princess. She was untouchable, or at least that's what most people believed. He didn't think he'd enjoy her company as much as he did and he certainly didn't think her kisses would effect him like they do. She said she wasn't planning on him. He wasn't planning on her. Now that he had a taste, he wasn't ready to let go; not without a fight.

"Hermione," he whispered, pushing her away slightly so he could look into her eyes. "Piccola, you have nothing to apologize for. We've never discussed exclusivity. This kiss; you didn't do anything wrong."

"Have you kissed another woman since going out with me?"

"Why would I look at another woman when I'm going out with you?"

"See?" she yelled, throwing her hands in the air. "You say things like that and I go and kiss another man. Oh gods, I'm a slag."

Blaise laughed. "No offense, piccola, but you need to do so much more before anyone can call you that."

She glared at him, crossing her arms across her chest.

"If I may, it sounds to me like you're confused about what you're feeling - Do you have feelings for this other man? Do you have feelings for me? - and you need to sort it out."

"Exactly."

"Love, how can you learn the truth if you refuse to see me?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Give me a chance. Give us a chance. If it turns out I'm not the one in your heart, I'll back off. If it turns out he's not the one you want, I'll push him away from you."

She smirked at the image. "You're being very mature, Blaise."

"You sound surprised."

"I am."

He smiled slowly. "Good. I like keeping you on your toes." He stepped forward, taking her in his arms once more. Using the pad of his fingers, he wiped the tears from her face. "Now, tonight. We will be at The Leaky Cauldron around 8. I would love to see you but understand if you need time to yourself," he leaned forward to kiss her forehead. "I better get back before Draco gets carried away with plans. I'll have you know he wants to have the fourth floor be a karaoke bar."

"Oh no," she groaned.

"Exactly."

She turned to walk away, wondering how she went from breaking up with him to potentially agreeing to another date. She was nearly a block away when she heard his voice.

"That's right, piccolo, walk away. Don't look back. Fight it. Fight it!"

She was laughing by the time she reached the apparition point.

* * *

><p>Sirius wasn't laughing as he watched Hermione walk away from Blaise. Instead, he glared at the wizard who held her why she cried. He made her cry. Did he not remember his threat? He walked toward the wizard as he continued to shout to Hermione, grabbing him by the shoulder just as she disappeared.<p>

"What the - Mr. Black."

"Mr. Zabini."

"What are you doing here?"

"Come," he said, his hand still gripping Blaise's shoulder. "Let's have a chat, you and I."

He dragged him into an alleyway, pushing the younger wizard up against the wall as soon as they were away from curious bystanders. "I thought I told you that if you hurt Hermione, they'd never find your body."

"I haven't hurt Hermione."

"She was crying."

"She wasn't crying over me," he pushed Sirius away from him. Crossing his arms over his chest, he studied the man who stood before him, snippets of his conversation with Hermione playing on repeat in his head. He cocked his head as the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. "If I were to take a guess, I'd say she was crying over you."

"Excuse me?"

"You kissed her," he continued. "What happened, Black? You saw that someone else could make her happy and couldn't handle it?"

Sirius took a threatening step forward. "Don't," he warned. "This doesn't concern you."

"Oh, I think it does. See, I like Hermione and I'm pretty sure she likes me despite how much you've messed her up. She was feeling guilty about what you did and tried to end things, but I don't think she means it. I think she likes the way I make her feel. I think I make her question what she thinks she feels for you."

Sirius stepped back, not sure how to respond to Blaise's assessment, afraid that what he was saying was true. No, he couldn't think like that, not now. She had her chance to change her mind. He gave her time. He pushed her away. She didn't listen. As far as he was concerned, their fate was sealed. She loved him, he loved her. They would be together.

Blaise watched the range of emotions play on the older wizard's face. "I told her I'm not backing down. I'm telling you the same thing. We both want Hermione. She will choose one of us. I hope it's me, but if for some reason she ends up choosing you, I will be a gentleman and back off. However," Blaise stalked forward until he was toe-to-toe, chest-to-chest with Sirius, "you threatened me once. I allowed it because I was a guest in your home. Now it's time for me to return the favor. Do not make her cry again. You aren't the only one who can make people disappear."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Blaise is messing everything up. I might be madder at him than Sirius. **

**Legalities: I do not own Harry Potter. These characters belong to J.K. Rowling and Scholastic, Inc. **

* * *

><p>Remus smelled smoke. Not bothering to take off his robes, he rushed to the kitchen, worried Dora - or worse; Hermione - had decided to cook. The kitchen was empty and devoid of the scent that assaulted him the second he stepped from the fireplace in the study. He ran to the second floor, checking the library, sitting room, Hermione's room and Harry's. Everything was fine there, as were the third floor bedrooms.<p>

"Dora!" he shouted, taking the stairs to the attic two at a time. His wife had attempted to clear it two months before, citing that she had the most Black blood of anyone at Grimmauld Place at the time. It took several spells and a particularly nasty-smelling cream to heal the burns on her hands.

The attic was considered off limits after that.

"Dora!" Remus through open the door, barreling into Sirius who was watching a fire in the middle of the oversized space with a fascinated look.

"Watch where you're going, Moony," he chastened, not taking his eyes off the flames.

"Padfoot," Remus panted. "What are you doing?"

"Clearing the house of Black magic. Correction; dark Black magic which, now that I think about it, is most Black magic. My earlier assessment stands."

Remus looked around the room that, the last time he was there, had been filled floor to ceiling with furniture, boxes and other odds and ends dating back as far as the Ancient and Noble House of Black could remember. Now, all that was left was a pile of rubbish so badly burnt, Remus could begin to guess what it had been. "Want to explain the pyromaniac act?"

"Had to bump up the timetable, Moony."

"Timetable?"

"Mm-hmm," Sirius replied, walking around the burning rubbish, flicking his hand to keep the sparks from spreading. Remus knew fire was one of the few wandless, non-verbal spell Sirius mastered while imprisoned. Sometimes producing a handful of blue fire was the only thing that kept him warm in Azkaban.

"I was not aware you had a timetable for destroying your family's heirlooms."

"First of all, my family's heirlooms are covered in dark magic. Even if there was anything I cared enough about to remove the stain, it would take too long. Better to burn it all and start fresh."

"All right," Remus was cautious. Sirius had an odd look on his face. It was not quite the look he'd get as a teenager just before unveiling his newest prank idea; similar, but a bit more crazed, like how he looked after cornering Peter in the Shrieking Shack. "And why do this now?"

"Moving the timetable up."

"Right; the timetable," he nodded in understanding even though he didn't. Nearly three decades of friendship, he considered himself a great judge of Sirius' moods. The best course of action was to humor him until he was ready to talk. "I'm afraid you're going to have to fill in some blanks for me."

Sirius looked up, his eyes focusing on his friend. "I'm doing what you said; taking care of myself so I can take care of Hermione."

"Uh huh."

Sirius sighed. For someone so smart, Moony could be incredibly dense. "Taking care of myself means confronting everything I've avoided since escaping Azkaban. That was more than five years ago, Moony; five! In those five years, the only cleaning this house has seen occurred when Molly Weasley got the urge."

"Seeing as your definition of cleaning apparently means setting things on fire, perhaps avoidance wasn't your worst course of action," Remus pointed out.

"They're evil things."

"Right; that makes it OK, then."

"Don't patronize me. If we're going to live here, it needs to be safe for everyone; especially Hermione."

Remus couldn't find fault with that train of thought. "Well, that sounds like a step in the right direction."

"Agreed," Sirius announced, flicking his wand at the pile of ashes in the middle of the floor, making them fly into the fireplace at the fire end of the room. "I did the same to my parents' rooms earlier. Reg's … I'll get to it."

Remus said nothing. Regulus had been an off-topic subject since third year. "Well," he changed the subject, "I support this newfound domesticity. What can I do to help?"

"You can keep quiet that I'm taking my family's seat in the Wizengamot," Sirius muttered under his breath. Luckily, Remus had excellent hearing.

Remus beamed. "You did it."

"I did," he admitted. "Damn Kings. He dangled Umbridge's anti-werewolf laws in my face. If you and my cousin are going to start having pups anytime soon, I better do what I can to ensure they'll have a good life."

Remus grabbed his friend in a hard hug. He knew Sirius hated the Wizengamot; hated the pureblood witches and wizards who sat in their seats, passing judgment on those they deemed unworthy. Self-importance, while he had it in abundance, was not something Sirius tolerated in others.

"I know I'm attractive Remus, but I don't dally with married people; you know that," Sirius pushed out of Remus' grasp. The werewolf forget his strength at times and he wasn't as strong as he used to be.

"There's always a line," the werewolf joked.

"Morals, Moony. I've got 'em in spades."

Remus snorted. "Why don't you want anyone to know you're taking your family's seat? Harry will be so proud and Hermione –"

"That's why," Sirius interrupted.

"Hermione?"

"Yeah. I need to show her I'm more than the guy living off his family's money; that I can handle the responsibilities attached to my name."

"How will she see that if you don't tell her?"

"Timetable."

"What the hell is this timetable you keep talking about?"

"Oh, yeah," Sirius dug a folded piece of parchment out of his back pocket, taking one of the ballpoint pens Hermione left laying around the house from his front pocket. He had to admit they were a hell of a lot more convenient than quill and ink. He added something to the paper. "I meant to run it by you, but –"

"You need to move it up; yeah, you've mentioned that."

"Right," Sirius passed over the paper. The idea for it came to him as he was talking to Remus, but it took several days for him to gather the courage to put ink to paper. He was aware of his faults and his mistakes. Azkaban left him with tons of time to review them in his head on constant repeat. If he was going to present himself to Hermione as a changed man, he needed to let go of the past – all of it. "Here's what I need to do."

Remus looked at the list scrawled in Sirius' messy script.

_**Take family seat in Wizengamot**_

**_Clean house_**

**_Apologize to Snape_**

**_Reach out to Narcissa_**

**_Talk to Harry about James_**

**_Thank Arthur and Molly_**

**_Thank Remus_**

**_Do something for Hogwarts_**

**_Visit James and Lily_**

**_Forgive Regulus_**

**_Live clean_**

"You don't need to thank me, Padfoot," Remus said quietly.

"Yeah, I do," Sirius admitted. "You were there for Harry when I wasn't. You handled James and Lily's funeral arrangements. You watched over Hermione when I was gone. I ... I forgot who you were, Remus, who you are, and it cost me, cost you. I can never make that up to you and -"

Remus held up a hand. "I got lost, too, Padfoot, but that's over now. We both made mistakes."

"I owe you," Sirius insisted.

"You owe me nothing. We're friends. That's always been more than enough for me." Remus handed over the list. "Cross it off; you've done it."

Sirius gave him a withering look, but did what he asked, crossing a line through 'clean house' as well. Remus watched him carefully. "That's an ambitious lineup."

"Yeah," Sirius tucked the list in his pocket. "I thought about what you said, what she yelled at me, and realized it's time to get my shit together."

"Sounds good."

"It was," Sirius grumbled. "I figured it'd take me a year to do this. In that time, I'd do the friend thing with Hermione; you know, establish a relationship, a bond; something we could build on."

"You have a timetable for telling the woman you love that you love her?"

"When the woman in question is Hermione Granger, fuck yeah," Sirius scoffed. "I've screwed it up too many times already. I'm not leaving anything to chance this time."

Remus shook his head. "I don't know why, but that makes sense."

"It did, but the whole thing is fucked now."

"Why?"

"Fucking Blaise Zabini. The snake has decided to make a play for my girl. Informed me of his intentions today."

Remus looked lost. "They only went out once."

"I know!" Sirius yelled. "But apparently that was enough for her to tell him about our kiss; guilt and all. Rather than slither away like he should have, he told her he's not backing down."

"How do you know this?"

"He told me so when I threatened him in an alley."

"Padfoot," Remus groaned. "You can't threaten people's lives. Add that to your list: No more death threats."

"He made her cry!"

"Maybe one death threat," Remus conceded.

"Well," Sirius hemmed, "she was probably crying more over what happened with me. He comforted her."

Remus was quiet, trying to picture a comforting Slytherin. He couldn't make it work in his head.

"I didn't know that when I threatened him," Sirius defended himself. "The little shit had a great time filling in the blanks."

"All right," Remus paced the room, digesting everything Sirius had said. "You want Hermione. To prove you're grown up enough to be in a relationship with her –"

"Worthy. I'm almost 40 years old, Remus. I think the grown up title is covered."

"That's debatable, but moving on – you've got your list and had a plan to spend the next year taking care of things, but now that another guy wants in, you're moving things up?"

"Yeah. Three months. New Year's Eve is a good time to begin again, right? I think she'll appreciate the symbolism."

Remus shook his head. "Have you considered telling her how you feel?"

Sirius snorted. "Like she'll believe me."

"Well, you've never tried being honest with her before. She might appreciate the change."

Sirius gave Remus the finger. "I did think of it, smartass."

"And?"

"And … she's not ready."

"What?"

"She's 18; almost 19. I heard her and Harry talking a couple of weeks ago. Harry was going on about how they never got the chance to just be kids," he walked to the wall and slid down, bringing his knees up. "We got that, Moony. We had dumb adventures, horrible ideas, triumphs and regrets. Remember that time Lily took us to the movies and had to tell the usher we were from another country to explain our behavior?"

Remus laughed. Lily was determined to share her Muggle background with the Marauders. Her attempts usually didn't end well, though Sirius fell in love with the music. The charmed CD player Hermione gave to Sirius for Christmas two years ago remains one of his prized possessions.

"We snuck out to make trouble, not to go into a hidden chamber and save a friend's life. They haven't woken up after a night of drinking still drunk. Harry hasn't picked up a bird in a bar. He said something about Hermione and a walk of shame, but I'm not going to think about that."

"Where are you going with this, Padfoot?"

"She needs time," Sirius sighed, eyes closed as his head lolled against the wall. "She needs time to be Hermione and not the Muggleborn best friend of Harry Potter. She needs to be that girl who went out with your wife and did something they still won't admit to, not a member of the Golden Trio. I can't expect her to jump into a relationship with me. She's not ready." He opened his eyes to focus on Remus who was watching him intently. "To be honest, Moony, I'm not, either. I look in the mirror and I see how old I am, but I still feel like a kid. Azkaban …" he trailed off. Hermione was right; he was free. It was time to stop living like he was still in that fucking place. "I need to grow up, Moony. My list … it's not just for her."

Remus looked away, swallowing a few times until he had his emotions in check. "If you need me …" his voice was thick with emotion.

"I know."

"What if while you're both growing up, she falls for Zabini?"

He was scared about that initially. The younger wizard had sauntered out of the alley without a care in the world, leaving him feeling every bit the beaten down old man he was sure Zabini saw when he looked at him. Then he remembered how Hermione felt in his arms, how her face looked when he kissed her, how her voice sounded when she said she loved him. She loved him. She may be confused about her feelings now, but she never would have said it if she didn't mean it. He was holding on to that like a lifeline as he made the greatest gamble of his life. He couldn't second guess his decision. It was all or nothing.

"She won't," he assured his friend, and himself. "She's mine."

Remus smiled. It had been awhile since the caught a glimpse of the cocky Sirius Black. He never thought he'd miss him. "By the way, you are not almost 40. You're almost 39. Stop making us older than we are, all right?"

"What are you complaining about? You're four months younger than me!"

Remus smirked. "Yes, I am."

* * *

><p>Hermione was tired. She flooed home hours later than planned, but her proposal for the memorial fundraiser was harder to write than she anticipated. It was a brilliant idea. Narcissa proposed a ball, the cost of the tickets covering most of the event's overhead. The lion's share – Hermione smiled remembering the face Narcissa's made when she used that phrase – of the money raised would come from the auction they'd have midway through the festivities.<p>

Narcissa's idea was to ask merchants in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade for donated items that they would sell to the highest bidder. Hermione remembered her parents attending similar events and the witches immediately started making a list. When Seamus stopped by to inquire about their lunch, Narcissa had asked him a question about the sauce on her fish, launching a 10-minute conversation that had the two talking like old friends.

"What if you could win a private cooking lesson with Seamus?" Hermione interrupted.

Narcissa's face lit up. "I'd love that!"

"I'm lost," Seamus admitted.

Hermione explained their idea. Seamus agreed to help in any way they needed, including a private cooking lesson.

"But Hermione, love, promise me you won't bid on it."

Seamus' enthusiasm led to another round of brainstorming, this time focusing on experiences rather than goods. Perhaps Fred and George would be willing to let someone help them create one of their more popular pranks. Harry could give a flying lesson and Neville a herbology tutorial. The possibilities were endless! Hermione wanted the proposal to convey the excitement she and Narcissa had for the project, but not be so effusive that it read like a child wrote it. After reviewing the document for the fourth time, she wasted nearly 15 minutes dealing with the awful Miss Harris in her quest to get a copy into Kingsley's hands before the end of the workday.

She hated that woman.

"Hermione," Harry shouted from the kitchen. "Are you eating with us?"

Her stomach answered for her. "Can I take a few minutes to change?"

"Yeah!"

She trudged upstairs, beige heels in her hands, any thought she had of joining Blaise at The Leaky Cauldron abandoned as she flopped face down on her bed, disturbing Crookshanks who opened one eye to glare at her.

"Where have you been?" she murmured, reaching out to scratch behind his ears. "I haven't seen you in days."

He purred in response, getting up to snuggle closer to her side. Hermione undid the belt at her waist and shrugged out of her sweater, dropping it to the floor. Stifling a yawn, she curled onto her side and closed her eyes, knowing she should get up so she could join Harry and the others for dinner but her bed was so comfortable and Crookshanks so warm by her side. "Just five minutes," she whispered, sound asleep in less than two.

* * *

><p>"She's in her room," Remus announced, his advanced hearing serving as lookout.<p>

"Great," Harry brought the piece of parchment he'd hidden under the table when they heard Hermione arrive back into view. "So, like I was saying, we'll celebrate Hermione's birthday Friday night."

"But that's not her birthday," Sirius interrupted.

"I know, but Ron and I will be gone on her actual birthday and I want to see her face when she opens our present," Harry replied, checking over the list. "Molly will handle the food. Tonks, I told her you were willing to help and she said she'd let you know if she needed you."

"So no, right?"

"Yeah. Sorry." Tonks shrugged good-naturedly. She never expected Molly to ask for her help, but it was rude not to offer.

"We'll meet here around 6 Friday night. She has her N.E.W.T.s meeting with McGonagall that afternoon and she promised to keep Hermione at Hogwarts as long as she can. Hermione won't apparate all the way home, so if McGonagall lets us know when she leaves school grounds, we should have enough warning to get everything ready."

"Wait; why won't she apparate?" Sirius asked.

"Oh, it makes her sick," Harry responded, his mind more in birthday-planning mode than concern for his friend's health.

"Really? I remember her being quite good at it. She never even complained of feeling dizzy."

"It's a relatively new development," Remus told him. "Started last spring."

"Has she gone to a healer?"

Tonks snorted. "You've met Hermione, right? She says it's caused be stress and if she limits how often she apparates, she can control her reaction to it."

Sirius didn't like the sound of that. He knew Hermione was smart; she was a bloody genius. She also was stubborn as hell. If any of her friends were complaining of headaches, she'd have them in front of a healer before they finished voicing their excuse. Why wasn't anyone doing the same for her?

"We've tried," Remus replied, noticing the frustrated look on Sirius' face. "She keeps putting it off."

"What if something's really wrong?"

"You want to give it a go?" Harry asked. "Be my guest."

"Maybe I will," Sirius murmured, mentally adding another item on his list while only partially listening to Harry finish talking about Hermione's birthday party. He hoped he wasn't expected to do something. Oh well, Remus would fill him in later.

"All right; let's eat," Harry got up to slice the roast chicken while Tonks set the table and Remus finished the salad. "Sirius, will you go get Hermione?"

He didn't want to leave the domesticity of the kitchen, but seeing as he was the only one not helping, he supposed he could make himself useful. Their meals were going to suffer once Harry left for the training academy. He wasn't a complete disaster in the kitchen, but his culinary skills were nowhere near Harry's. He wondered if Molly would be up for some basic cooking lessons; perhaps if he promised not to bring Tonks or Hermione. He chuckled as he walked up the stairs. They were two of the strongest women he knew, yet they could barely crack an egg.

Hermione's door was partially opened. Sirius knocked on the doorjamb, calling her name before he pushed it open, appreciating the changes she made to the once-dreary bedroom. Maybe she'd want to help him figure out what to do with the attic. The study and sitting room could use a facelift, too.

"Meow."

Crookshanks pulled Sirius from his thoughts. The cat was snuggled next to Hermione, who was dead to the world, mouth partially open as she snored softly, the hem of her dress riding midway up her thigh.

"She's torturing me. You know that, don't you?" he glared at the cat who he swore smirked in response. Sighing, Sirius approached the bed, planning on shaking Hermione awake, but the dark circles under her eyes stopped him. He knew she wasn't sleeping enough. Harry had told him dreams of her parents had her waking up in the middle of the night more often than not. If she was resting comfortably now, it was probably best to let her. "OK, cat; does she have a blanket around here?"

Crookshanks got to his feet, stretching slowly before jumping lightly to the ground and leaving the room, his bushy tail twitching.

"I knew cats were worthless," Sirius grumbled, walking around the bed to the other side, pulling down the covers before retracing his steps and lifting Hermione in his arms. Cradling her like a man would a new bride, he walked to the side of the bed he readied for her, trying to ignore the way her arms curled trustingly around his neck as she snuggled closer.

"Harry?" she murmured sleepily.

"Sirius," he whispered, wondering if his godson regularly carried Hermione to bed.

"Mmm."

He laid her down, drawing the covers up over her. Common sense told him to leave, but he couldn't. She looked so angelic in sleep, a word he'd never use to describe her when she was awake. Sitting on the side of the bed, he crushed her curls away from her face, unconsciously counting the freckles that dotted her cheeks and nose. He was pleased to see she had three on her right shoulder, bending to kiss them softly before he could question his actions. Her eyes fluttered, but stayed closed.

"Can you hear me?" he whispered, still running his fingers through her curls, smiling when she didn't respond. "I need to tell you something. I love you, Hermione Granger. I think I've loved you for a long time, but I was too stupid, too stubborn, to admit it. I'm probably not what you deserve. I'm never going to be good enough for you. I'm too rough around the edges to sweep you off your feet and I don't have it in me to tell you every day how lucky I am to have you, but I know it. You are the greatest thing in my life and if it takes the rest of mine to prove it to you, I will."

He moved off the bed, kneeling by the side so he could face her. "Three months," he continued, his low tones luring her into a deeper sleep. "This is the only warning you'll get. I tried to run from you. I tried to push you away. It didn't work, little girl. Now you've got three months to live your life before I become a permanent part of it. I hope you know what you're getting into."


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Just a note to let you know I promise to post at least once a week. I'm taking my time with this story as it keeps drifting from my original intention. The outline is a big ol' mess at this point. I blame Blaise. **

**Legalities: I do not own Harry Potter. These characters belong to J.K. Rowling and Scholastic, Inc. **

* * *

><p>Hermione opened her eyes slowly. Something was off. She was in her bed, she knew that much, but it didn't feel right. Shifting, she pushed herself to a seated position, reaching for her wand on her night stand table, encountering a pillow instead.<p>

"What …"

She continued to pat around her. Yes, this was her bed. It had to be late, given the lack of light outside, but she could see well enough to know she was in her room. She remembered feeling tired, but had no idea how long she slept, nor how she got under the covers on the wrong side of the bed. Finally, her fingers found felt the comfort of her wine wood wand. _"Lumos."_

Yes, her room and, glancing at the antique clock on her nightstand, she'd been asleep for nearly six hours. Stifling a yawn, Hermione looked down at her dress, wrinkled beyond recognition, as her stomach grumbled in protest. Dinner! She remembered Harry calling out to her when she got home. He must have been the run to tuck her in. Hopefully his chivalry extended to leaving her food, too.

Getting out of bed, Hermione slipped her dress off of her shoulders, laying it carefully over the armchair before walking to the wardrobe, grabbing a soft T-shirt. Shrugging into it, she pulled the elastic from her now-disheveled side ponytail, clamping it between her teeth as she exited her bedroom. Working quickly as she made her way to the kitchen, she pulled her unruly curls into a loose braid. There was a strip of light underneath the kitchen's swinging door. Hermione hesitated, trying to decipher who was behind the door, hoping it wasn't Sirius. She considered going back to her room, but her stomach chose that minute to growl loudly. Sighing, Hermione secured the bottom of her braid and pushed open the door, not surprised to see the reason for her anxiety sitting at the head of the oversized oak table, staring intently at a piece of parchment.

"Hi," she said in a quiet voice.

He looked up, his gray eyes assessing as they raked over her body, a slow smile appearing on his aristocratic face. "So that's where it went."

"I'm sorry?"

He gestured to the gray shirt she was wearing. Hermione looked down; not realizing what she had pulled on was his Rolling Stones T-shirt. She kept meaning to return it to his room, but she liked having something of his. It was easy to justify that reasoning while he was gone, but now that he was home …

"Don't look so guilty," he chuckled. "I gave it to you, remember?"

She flushed slightly, the memory of that night both a comfort and a curse. "Not to keep."

"I don't know," he smirked. "It sure looks better on you than it ever did on Moony."

Hermione put the kettle on the stove. "Do I want to know?"

"The concert," Sirius gestured to Hermione's shirt. "We all went; Moony, Prongs, Lily. She claimed it was not her thing, but by the end of the night, the girl had a huge crush on Mick Jagger, which prompted James to bust out his impression."

Hermione giggled, trying to picture Harry doing a Mick Jagger impersonation. She couldn't see it. Carrying a bowl of salad with sliced chicken on top to the table, Hermione settled in her seat, her eyes on Sirius' face as he was lost in the memory. He looked younger when he was caught in a vision from the past. His eyes showed less pain, his face less worry. He was still handsome, one of the men who would likely be beautiful until the day he died, but he rarely looked happy. She was sure that was why Harry loved listening to stories about the Marauders, not simply to hear things about his dad, but to see Sirius and Remus happy. Neither man had enough happiness in his life.

The whistling of the tea kettle brought Sirius back to the present, the screech bringing him out of his seat before she could rise. Gesturing for her to sit, he walked to the stove to make her tea and top his own. He didn't add any sugar to his, she noted, meaning he had yet to go to bed that night. Sirius' overloaded his tea with sugar in the mornings, switching to un-doctored drinks in the afternoon and evening. Smiling her thanks when he placed her cup in front of her plate, she half-heartedly slapped his hand when he snagged a piece of her chicken.

"So you stole this from Remus?"

Sirius attempted to look insulted, but the gleam in his eyes gave him away. "He thought he lost it. By the time I was ready to give it back to him …" He trailed off, remembering why he couldn't give it back to him. An uneasy silence settled in the kitchen, the sound of the fork scraping against the plate the only noise in the otherwise quiet room.

It was always going to be like this, wasn't it? Hermione looked down at her plate, no longer hungry. She had thought time was what he needed. Time and affection, but maybe it was more than that. They all had scars from the war, physical and emotional, but he had years, decades, of hurt before that. What made her think she, a Muggle-born witch who grew up in a house with two parents who would do anything for her, including let her leave their world when she learned she was a witch, could help someone like Sirius Black? She knew nothing about him, nothing about how he lived beyond the rumors.

"Little one," he said softly.

She looked up. He was watching her with an unreadable expression. "Do me a favor, Pick a number between one and eight."

"What?"

"One and eight," he repeated. "Pick a number."

"Um. Seven?"

He pulled out the paper once more, eyes scanning before they stopped. He stared at was written there for a moment before nodding slightly, tucking the paper into his jeans. "Thanks, little girl," he told her, getting up and walking to the door. He stopped before he pushed it open; turning slightly to lock eyes with her once more. "Thanks for coming after me Friday," he said solemnly. "I didn't know how you did it. Even Remus would have thought to look there."

"It wasn't the first place I tried."

"But it was the right one," he told her. "I shouldn't have yelled at you like I did. I shouldn't have kissed you like I did. You …. You deserve better than that. I'm sorry."

Not waiting for a response, he left the room. Hermione pushed the plate aside and laid her head on the table. He said it. He apologized.

_Bastard._

* * *

><p>Sirius walked to his room, wishing she had picked a different number besides seven. Seven. <em>Visit James and Lily. <em>He had yet to go to their graves. He knew where they were located in the small cemetery in Godric's Hollow. He told himself he couldn't go when he excaped Azkaban because James Potter's tombstone would be the first place the Ministry would search. He didn't go after his name was cleared because it was the first place Remus would look for him. He didn't go with Harry because he didn't want to break down in front of the person he's supposed to remain strong for.

He didn't want to go now because seeing their graves would make it real.

He wasn't crazy. He knew they were dead. He would never forget the night he learned that his best friend, _his brother_, was gone. The rest of that horrible night was a blur of anger, of rage, of fury as he thought about nothing but finding Peter, of making him pay for what he did.

He lay on his bed, his hands behind his head as he looked at nothing on the ceiling. He didn't have to go; not until he was ready. So he asked Hermione to pick a number. He only did it to ease the tension. He was not obligated to visit James and Lily until he was ready. He could do something else. So what if he'd spent nearly two hours at the kitchen table, trying to determine which task he was going to go after next before she walked in? This was his list, his choice. He'd get it done eventually.

* * *

><p>The sun was still rising, painting the sky a soft yellow, as he picked his way through the worn path in the cemetery, his eyes on the two tombstones under the wisteria tree near the back. The tree was new. Harry and Hermione had planted it a couple of months ago. Harry had wanted to add something to his parents' grave and Hermione had done what she always does in situations like this and visited the library to look up information. When Sirius asked why a wisteria tree, Harry told him her research found that it is a symbol of romance.<p>

"She said it means 'enduring love,'" Harry told him.

Enduring love. That sounded like James and Lily. His friend locked eyes with the redheaded witch the first day of classes and never looked back. He was too young at 11 to call it love, but that didn't stop him for chasing after Lily Evans as much as he could. It took Sirius years to realize James wasn't being a prat; he truly had feelings for Lily. He remembered thinking he would never be so stupid as to let a woman have so much power over him.

"How the mighty have fallen, eh James?" he scoffed, standing in front of his friend's grave marker. "If you could see how I am around her …" He shook his head, dropping to his hunches so he could place the clutch of pink lilies he had in his hand on the ground. "I'm sorry I haven't been by sooner. I'm sure Harry's filled you in. You were right, Lily; my temper finally got the best of me."

He looked around, pleased to see he was alone. It was nearly dawn before he finally made up his mind to visit Godric's Hollow that morning, sneaking out before anyone else was awake. He was sure the woman from whose garden he swiped the flowers would understand, though he should probably see if there was a charm he could cast over her remaining flowers to make up for it. Lily would want that.

Hermione would, too.

"I miss you," his voice was gruff. "There are some days when it feels like it just happened. I wake up and I think 'I need to see James today' and it hits me: you're gone. You're still gone. It fucking sucks." He sat back, drawing his legs up to his chest. "I'm trying. I'm trying to get better, do better. I know you, James; if you were here, you'd ask 'Who's the bird?' You know her - Harry's friend, Hermione. I know, she's almost 20 years younger than me, but she doesn't act like it. Or maybe I don't act like I'm older, I don't know. She's … You'd like her," Sirius told his friends. "She's a lot like you, Lily; smart, funny, with a temper you don't see coming until it's too late. It's a sight to see. I'm sure Harry's told you she's the reason he stayed safe all these years. I don't want to get dramatic and say she's the reason I'm safe now, but she kind of is. She makes me want to be a better man. I'm trying to wrap my head around things, you guys. It's going to take time, but I'm ready now." He leaned back on his hands, lifting his head up to the sun that was now fully in the sky. The warmth on his shoulders felt, for a moment, like a hug. Yeah, he's ready.

* * *

><p>"You really think we're ready?" Hermione couldn't believe it. She walked into the Ministry that morning to find a request from Kingsley on her desk. He loved the proposal and wanted to congratulate her in person for creating a project that, in his words, would "not only honor those who fought for the Light, but unite both sides in something positive for our entire world."<p>

"Absolutely," Kingsley replied, signing Hermione's proposal and handing it back to her. "Do you have a date in mind? A location?"

Hermione listened as Kingsley rattled off questions, scribbling to take notes as fast as he spoke. This wasn't going to be easy. She needed to arrange another meeting with Narcissa. She hoped the woman's initial enthusiasm was still present; there was no way she could pull this off on her own.

"Don't look so panicked," he smiled. "You can do this."

She repeated those words to herself as she walked back to her office, taking the long way so she could work on her mental to-do list. She worked better when she organized her tasks in her mind before committing them to paper.

"Picolla."

She smiled at the site of Blaise leaning against her desk, her smile growing as she took in the flowers he had in his hand, but when she reached her hand out to take them, he moved them out of her reach.

"Oh, these aren't for you."

"Excuse me?"

"I only give flowers to witches who rescue me from boring evenings with the same group of men I see nearly every night."

She walked closer, lifting her hand to cup his face. "Poor Blaise," she cooed. "Your life is so hard, isn't it?"

"I know you are being sarcastic, but if you saw how dull my evening was, you would feel sorry for me."

She laughed, moving around her desk to add her notes from her meeting with Kingsley to the project file. "I wish I could tell you I had an amazing night, but I fell asleep when I got home and didn't wake up until after midnight. I would not have been good company for you."

"I doubt that," he practically purred, leaning forward to place a hand under her chin, gently lifting until her eyes were locked with his. "I missed you, perhaps more than I should." He handed her the flowers and Hermione barely resisted burying her face in the sweet-smelling purple and blue lilacs. "Let me take you to lunch. You can tell me why you were walking with that same focused look I remember from Hogwarts."

"It's barely 10 in the morning," she pointed out as she transfigured a cup holder into a vase for her flowers.

"Brunch," he amended.

"I'm pretty sure brunch is a weekend activity."

"Always the rule-follower," Blaise shook his head. "Tea then."

"You aren't going to stop until I say yes, correct?"

"That, picolla, is why they call you the brightest witch our age."

She looked around her desk. She should really organize her thoughts, but tea did sound nice and Blaise had given her flowers. "Can you give me a few minutes? I need to send an owl to Narcissa Malfoy."

"Of course," Blaise pushed away from her desk. "I'll wander up to Pucey's office and bother him. He made the mistake of flirting with Madeline Abbey last night and I was too busy watching the door to properly shame him for it."

"Why do you need to shame him?"

"She was Hufflepuff."

* * *

><p>Sirius heard her humming when she entered the house. It was a tune he didn't recognize and she was slightly off tune. He'd heard her sing plenty of times; she had a decent voice, yet couldn't hum a note. He added that to his mental list he was keeping about her, walking out of the study to catch her in route to her bedroom.<p>

"Sirius," she greeted, chocolate brown eyes twinkling merrily. "What are you doing inside this lovely afternoon?"

"Contemplating."

"Well, no one does it better than you."

He shook his head at his choice of words. "I meant I'm contemplating the study's décor," he amended, taking her hand and pulling her into the room. It was dark, as were most rooms in his family's home, with gray walls and black leather furniture.

Hermione looked around. She didn't mind the study when it was filled with people; conversation and laughter adding light to the dark.

"I saw what you did to Harry's room; he said you made similar changes to yours."

She looked over. "Is that all right? I probably should have asked before I did it, but I couldn't stand -"

He held up a hand. "Calm down, little one. I'm glad you did it. This is your home. You should make any changes you need in order to feel comfortable." He looked around the room, barely hiding his distaste as he flashed back to all the times he was forced to sit on that very couch and listen to his parents rant about the importance of the Black name. "I've decided it's time to make changes of my own around this place. I mentioned something to Remus and he said you might have some thoughts."

"Really?" Hermione looked around the space with interest. Grimmauld Place was nowhere near the eyesore she remembered from early visits, but even Molly Weasley's extensive cleaning charms couldn't work a miracle.

"Really. I know there are magazines and stuff for this sort of thing …" he trailed off, looking uncertain.

Hermione couldn't recall ever seeing Sirius Black look unsure of himself. It made her want to hug him. Who was she kidding? She always wanted to hug him. "There are. We could pick some up, see what appeals to you."

"Not just me," he stressed. "We all live here."

Hermione thought of their housemates. "No offense to Tonks, but I think aside from her and Remus' room, she should be left out of the discussion."

Sirius recalled the bubblegum pink hair his cousin favored most days. "You may have a point."

"Great; when do you want to go?"

He looked down at her. "Are you busy now?"

"No."

"Let's go."

* * *

><p>Sirius had never visited a home improvement store before. After 20 minutes of following Hermione down the expansive aisles that looked longer than those in the Department of Mysteries, he decided he had a new obsession. "Do we need one of these?" he asked, eyeing the table saw. There was a man in an orange vest with oversized plastic goggles giving a demonstration, the wood making a high-pitched squeal as it was neatly sawed in half.<p>

"Merlin, no," Hermione grabbed Sirius' arm and dragged him away from the power tools. "We are not dismantling the house."

"It's not the worst idea in the world."

"It is while we have to live there," she retorted. "You want to make interior changes. New paint colors, re-staining the floors, window treatments …" Her voice trailed off as she found the selection of home improvement publications. Grabbing several of the glossy magazines, she thrust them in his arms. "We should probably pick up a few tools – a tape measurer, at least. I'm not sure how much we can do with magic."

"Don't look at me," Sirius informed her, flipping through the pages of the top magazine. "This is new territory for me."

She waved down an employee. "Excuse me, sir."

The man stopped; his blue eyes friendly behind his wire-rimmed glasses as he examined the two people in front of him. The young woman was wearing a yellow summer dress with a soft pink cardigan; her arm looped that of her companion who was dressed casually in jeans and a navy blue T-shirt promoting some sports team he never heard of. He squinted to better see the faded log. Was that a broom? "How may I help you?"

"We are embarking on a home improvement project. My friend has inherited his family's home -"

"I'm sorry for your loss," the man said automatically.

"Don't be," Sirius muttered.

"As I was saying," Hermione elbowed Sirius in the side, "he inherited the home and while the structure is sound -"

"Can't say the same for the people who lived there," Sirius interjected, wincing when Hermione elbowed him again.

" – but the interior is in desperate need of a makeover."

"I understand," the man chuckled. "I imagine some of the décor hasn't seen the light of day for some time."

Sirius opened his mouth to respond, but changed his mind at Hermione's fierce glare.

"Exactly," she nodded.

"Well, the first thing you need to consider is how much money you want to put into the project. There's nothing worse than having your heart set on a design only to realize you can't afford it. My poor Eleanor … we re-did our kitchen a few years ago after she watched a kitchen makeover marathon television show and it broke her heart to know what they had on TV could not be replicated in our house. "

Hermione smiled in sympathy. Sirius was bored. This aisle was not nearly as interesting as that with the saws.

Pointing to the magazines Sirius was holding, the man told them they were off to a good start. "Look through these for ideas. Make a list of what you'd like to do, then sit down with your budget and decide what you can afford to do."

"Thank you," Hermione told him. "It's overwhelming."

"It is," he nodded knowingly. "Home improvement projects can be stressful, so please let me give you a piece of unsolicited advice: don't go to bed mad."

Sirius raised a brow while Hermione started coughing. "Could you repeat that?" he asked.

"What I mean is you will argue during this process – all couples do – so I encourage you to keep the lines of communication open. This is something you are doing together. Make sure it stays that way."

With that, the man, who eerily resembled Dumbledore the more Hermione studied him, waved gaily and continued on his way.

"I liked him," Sirius announced. "Let's go look at more things that make noise."

* * *

><p>She managed to get Sirius home without a power tool, understanding for the first time what he must have been like at Hogwarts. His enthusiasm for all things Muggle was both endearing and exhausting. She loved answering questions about the world in which she was raised, but she didn't have all of the answers, especially when it came to questions about pipes, electricity and drill bits.<p>

"Harry?"

"Kitchen!"

Hermione and Sirius walked to the room where Harry elbow deep in a bowl of dough. Tossing the oversized bag of interior design magazines on the table, Hermione flopped in one of the chairs with a sigh, slipping off her sandals and wishing she had thought to change her shoes earlier. She jumped when warm hands wrapped around her ankles, her eyes popping open to see Sirius lift her feet into his lap. She opened her mouth to ask what he was doing, but any protest she might have made was lost the minute his knuckles dug into her sore arches, letting out a soft moan.

"Family kitchen, Hermione," Harry joked, dumping the ball of dough on a stone pizza pan.

"He's amazing," she sighed in response, shifting in her chair to get more comfortable, the heel of her foot grazing the inside of Sirius' thigh as she did so. He sucked in his breath. Maybe this wasn't a good idea.

"Where've you been?"

"The greatest place in the world, according to Sirius," Hermione murmured, barely listening as Sirius told Harry about their afternoon at the home improvement store, his fingers never stopping their ministrations as Harry finished prepping the pizza, joining them at the table to flip through a few of the magazines. By the time Remus and Tonks walked in, Hermione was practically melting at Sirius' feet, completely missing the look Remus gave his oldest friend.

"Good day, Padfoot?"

"It had its moments."


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Sirius Black in a home improvement store is something no one knew they needed to imagine until it happened. I feel I have made the world a better place.**

**Legalities: I do not own Harry Potter. These characters belong to J.K. Rowling and Scholastic, Inc. **

* * *

><p>He pointed his wand, his grip firm yet loose, whatever the hell that meant, and pictured the color in his mind.<p>

"Remember, the softer you say the incantation, the lighter the color," Hermione reminded him.

He nodded, though his frustration was increasing with every attempt, the walls of his father's old bedroom bearing the brunt of his earlier efforts – dark green, mint, pea green, and some shade that resembled vomit. "Can't you do it?" he asked Hermione.

"I could, but this is your house and your project."

Turning so she wouldn't see the dirty look he gave her, he focused on the west wall. Firm grip. Loose fingers. He gritted his teeth. "_Pingere Paries_." Seconds later the nearly black paint lightened to lime green. Where the hell did that come from?

"I don't know," Hermione pursed her lips as she studied the insanely bright green surface. "Tonks may like it."

Sirius knew she was trying to get him to laugh, but he was beyond humor at this point. Glaring at her for refusing to just do it herself, he stomped out of the room. Hermione took a step to go after him, but thought better of it, electing to sit in the middle of the floor instead. He'd be back. He was too stubborn not to return.

"Hermione?"

She looked over as Ron cautiously entered the room. "Sirius isn't here," she told him.

"I'm not worried about Sirius; I'm worried about being in Orion Black's bedroom."

She rolled her eyes. "Sirius cleaned it. He even had Tonks perform a cleansing charm with him; two times the Black family power."

Ron didn't look convinced.

"Would he honestly give this suite to Remus and Tonks if he thought deceased family members could curse whoever crossed the threshold?"

He still wasn't convinced, but joined Hermione on the floor anyway. "I haven't seen you in a while," he remarked, racking his brain for something he could say to distract her while Harry snuck her birthday present into the basement. "How are you?"

She smiled at the question, knowing he didn't really want her to answer. Noting the dulled look in his blue eyes, she decided to be kind and changed the subject. "I was going to ask you the same question."

"It is what it is," he sighed. "I miss Luna. I knew this was going to be hard, her going back to Hogwarts, but I had no idea how much it would hurt. Since she left, it's like I have this ache, right here," he rubbed his hand over his chest. "It's like something is missing and I know it's her, but I can't do anything about it. Not now. She wants to finish school and I want to be an auror. I think, maybe, it will get easier when I leave for the academy next week. Everyone says the training is exhausting, so I should be able to sleep at night, yeah?"

"The way Tonks talks, you'll be sleeping whenever you can, even if it's waiting in line for the loo."

"Hmm … the one time being a man won't come in handy. I've seen the lines outside women's restrooms. What are you doing in there?"

"Hey!" she smacked his shoulder. "Do not judge my gender by the actions of a select few!"

"You do realize I'll be able to arrest you for assaulting an auror in two years?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Think so, Ronald?"

Her tone was his warning. Had he not been busy enjoying the dangerous glint in her eye, he would have had time to cast a shielding charm before her tickling hex hit him square in the chest, the sensation of several fingers on his bare skin making him form a protective ball and he begged for Hermione to end the spell – in between gasps for breath.

"Who was right?"

"You … were!"

"Who's the best?"

"You are!"

"Who do you love?"

"Luna!"

The spell ended immediately. He felt her lips against him as she whispered "Good answer," in his ear.

"Make sure you tell Luna how brave I was under attack," he rasped as he struggled to catch his breath. "Write something good in your next letter. I want her to swoon."

"She's already your girlfriend, Ron," Harry pointed out as he joined his friends on the floor, settling next to Hermione as she wrapped her arm around his waist.

"That she is, mate, but you and I both know Hermione'e opinion carries a lot of weight," Ron pushed himself to a seated position on Hermione's other side. "Anything nice she says about me only makes me look better in Luna's eyes."

Hermione leaned against Ron, not disputing his words. Time alone, just the three of them, was rare these days. When it happened, there was a sense of comfort they only felt with each other, a familiarity that was exemplified by how they sat: Harry, Hermione and Ron. This was how they used to crowd under the Invisibility Cloak; the order in which they entered the Department of Mysteries; the way they slept in the tent during their search for pieces of Lord Voldemort's soul. Sirius watched them from the doorway, knowing they were unaware of the unit they presented. It wasn't something they studied or questioned; it simply was. It was how he used to be with the Marauders, him and James always jockeying to be out in front.

_"__Why do you do that?" James asked._

_"__Do what?"_

_"__Push ahead. Every time they ask one of us to volunteer, you go first. Hell, when McGonagall asked who replaced the soup beans with Mexican jumping beans, you stepped forward! She didn't even know it was us!" _

_Sirius didn't know how to respond. He went first because he had to. The person in front took the brunt of whatever was coming. _

"Sirius? Hey, are you all right?"

Sirius pushed away the memory, smirking at his Godson. "If you are referring to my interior painting skills, I believe the evidence speaks for itself."

"You aren't holding your wand right," Hermione huffed as she got to her feet, her eyes narrowed as he lifted his arm that held his wand, adjusting his fingers until she was happy with his grip. "You point on _Pingere_," she held her own wand out, "and slightly twist your wrist counterclockwise on _Paries_. It's subtle, but effective."

"Whoa; flashback!" Ron interrupted, shivering as if he just saw a ghost. "Flitwick's class, first year."

Harry's face lit up in recognition. "It's _LeviOsa_, _not LevioSA!"_

Hermione fisted her hands on her hips. She hated this story. "Are you finished?"

"Swish and flick," the boys yelled in response, looking very much like the annoying 11-year-olds she met on the train.

"Out!" she cried, pointing to the door. They obeyed, laughing loudly as they left the room. She pointed her wand at the door to slam it behind them, locking it for good measure.

"Do I want to know?" Sirius asked.

"Oh, just my attempt at helping Ron in Charms our first year. It was not appreciated."

"Go on."

"You're delaying," she told him in exasperation.

"Right you are, little girl. Go on."

She really did not want to share this story. It was bad enough that Sirius knew more about her youth than he should because of Harry. "Fine," she groaned. "We were in Professor Flitwick's class, learning the levitation charm –"

"Wingardium Leviosa."

"Yes! Only Ron was saying it wrong. Honestly, if I hadn't said anything, who knows what would have happened?"

Sirius could only imagine. "So you told him that and he took offense."

"Obviously. He said if I was so smart, to try it myself. I did and it worked, which annoyed him, of course. Later I overheard Ron tell Harry my know-it-all attitude was the reason no one liked me."

Sirius took a step toward the door, his face dark.

"Stop!" Hermione grabbed his arm. "He was right. I was a know-it-all back then and he later apologized. Of course, we had just battled a troll, and I lied to keep him and Harry out of trouble. If that isn't the beginning of a lifetime friendship, I don't know what is."

"Becoming an Animagus to keep a werewolf company?"

"Fine, you win," she rolled her eyes at his conceited smirk. "Now try the incantation again."

The good feeling disappeared. For all he knew, his parents' had placed a curse on the walls to stop anyone with taste from changing anything in this damn mausoleum.

"Come on," she moved behind him, her front pressed to his back as she moved one hand to rest on top of his, the other wrapping around his waist. He sucked in his breath, quietly, as she threaded her fingers over his. He had hold of his wand, but could feel it drawing from her power. "Picture the color: forest green," she murmured against his back. "When you're ready, say the words and we'll move together."

He felt her move closer, the arm she had around him tightening slightly. She was killing him. He could feel her breasts pressed against his back and closed his eyes, trying not to picture her standing exactly like, naked in his shower, her hands sliding down to grip him tight, his hips moving as he thrust into her touch. She'd tease him, going light when he wanted hard, whispering words of want and need in his ear. It could happen now. He could make it happen. All he had to do was turn around; turn around and kiss her. Press her against the wall like he did, his lips rough against hers, his hands touching her most secret places.

"Sirius?"

He squeezed his eyes shut. Three months. Three fucking months.

"Sirius?"

"Yes," he rasped.

"Are you ready?"

_Not yet, little girl, but soon._

* * *

><p>"You didn't have to come with me."<p>

Sirius looked around Hogsmeade, noting how very little had changed in the small village. He apparated with Hermione to the center of town, telling her he needed to replace Remus' supply of chocolate. It wasn't the best excuse, but it was the quickest he could come up with on short notice. What he really wanted was to gauge her reaction to apparition, forcing her to make several additional stops on their way to Hogsmeade. Studying her closely, he noted her pale complexion and perspiration at her temples. She'd stumbled when walking, and was now leaning against a stone wall, eyes closed, breathing deeply.

"Will you be able to make the walk to the castle?"

"I'm not an invalid," she retorted, not bothering to open her eyes. "Plenty of witches and wizards react poorly to apparition."

"But you never did. I remember Harry complaining about it."

_Damn it, Harry. _

"Maybe I'm getting old," she joked.

"Nice try, Hermione. Why haven't you seen a healer?"

She fisted her hair in her hands, lifting the heavy curls off of her neck. She felt hot. "Because I don't need a healer to tell me I'm working too hard and if I would rest more, I'd feel better."

"I can't disagree with that, but migraines that appear only after you apparate obviously points to something specific. Remus said it started last spring. When? Why? What did you do differently?"

_I was tortured by your cousin, and am likely suffering long-term nerve damage thanks to her obsession with the __Cruciatus Curse__. She wanted me to scream and I did. She wanted me to cry and I did. She wanted me to beg and I did, but that wasn't enough because she took a fucking dagger and carved 'Mudblood' into my arm. So yes, I guess you can say that was different._

She didn't talk about it. She wouldn't allow Ron and Harry to talk about it, either. So much happened after their escape from Malfoy Manner that by the time they had a moment to breathe, she had pushed it to the deepest part of her mind, the memory surfacing only when she was sleeping, though the frequency of her nightmares had decreased significantly in the past few weeks. She lifted her personal ban just once and that was to ask Professor Snape if he knew of a potion that could heal scars.

"Surely you are aware of the numerous potions, internal and external, that are available Miss Granger."

"They haven't worked."

"May I see the scar?"

She hesitated for only a second before lifting the permanent glamour from her arm. He didn't react. She didn't expect him to. The man was a spy, a master of his facial expressions.

"Bellatrix?" he inquired, sliding his hand under her elbow to bring the letters closer to his face. He took her silence as a yes, slowly tracing the letters with his wand. "Do you feel anything?"

"What am I supposed to feel?"

"Heat."

She didn't feel heat. She didn't even feel the wand touching her skin. If she hadn't been watching the process, she wouldn't know it was happening.

"Do you remember the dagger she used?"

"I'm sorry?"

"What did it look like, Miss Granger?"

She couldn't tell him. She was too busy screaming to focus on the sharp object cutting into her skin. She considered giving the names of those who witnessed her torment, but doubted any of the Malfoys would have any information to add. Bellatrix Lestrange was dead. That was what mattered. If she had to wear a glamour for the rest of her life, she would. Watching her professor swallow several times before he spoke again, she realized there were worst scars to have. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't think … I shouldn't have bothered you with this."

He looked up then, dark eyes flashing as he glared at her. "Do not feel sorry for me."

"I don't."

He dropped her arm. "I can't help you," he closed his eyes, dismissing her. She left, staying away for nearly two weeks. When she returned, neither mentioned her previous visit.

"Hermione?" Sirius cradled her face in his hands, breathing easier as her color slowly returned. He could feel her skin cool. She opened her eyes slowly. "How do you feel?"

Her head ached, but it was more of a dull pain. She usually wanted to go to bed, to sleep until the pain receded completely, but this was surprisingly manageable.

"You look confused," Sirius continued, one hand pushing her hair back, his fingers running through her curls. It was a soothing gesture, one that had her instinctively sway towards him.

"I'm …" her voice trailed off, the dredges of pain fading slowly. " … fine. I really am."

She didn't blame him for looking unconvinced. She'd been telling everyone that for months, so when he insisted on accompanying her to Hogwarts' gates, she took his arm without comment, the couple each lost in their own thoughts as they made the trek from village to school.

"Would you like to come in? I'm sure Professor McGonagall would enjoy seeing you." Hermione sent her patronus to the professor's office. The gates opened a minute later.

"Uh …" Sirius looked at the castle. He didn't want to be dramatic, but he swore he could feel McGonagall watching him. "I may have a few detentions I never got around to sitting. There's no need to rub that in Minnie's face." He glanced down, reluctant to leave Hermione. "Are you sure you'll be all right?"

"I'm going to pick up my revision materials, to have lunch with Ginny and Luna, and go home. I think I can manage that on my own, Sirius."

He knew she could. She could handle anything. He just … He couldn't explain his hesitancy. Before he could question his actions, he leaned forward to kiss her forehead, jumping back when a bright-white cat appeared, a disapproving look on its face: "I'm waiting, Miss Granger."

* * *

><p>Hermione considered it a successful visit - once she got past her embarrassment of her favorite professor catching her in a potentially awkward situation, not that a kiss on the forehead could ever be considered scandalous. Still, that didn't stop Hermione from blushing when Professor McGonagall asked if Sirius would be joining them for tea.<p>

No wonder Narcissa Malfoy was still scared of the woman.

"I'm pleased to inform you that the examiners agreed with my recommendations and will waive you from the taking the N.E.W.T.s in four subjects - Transfiguration, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Care of Magical Creatures – giving you 'Outstanding' in each subject based on your actions during and leading up to the war."

Hermione couldn't believe her ears. Four Outstandings, three of which were her toughest subjects?

"They were willing to waive potions, too, though with Exceeds Expectations," Professor McGonagall continued, not surprised when Hermione made a face and shook her head. "I figured as much. That leaves you with six N.E.W.T.s to take: Herbology, Ancient Runes, Potions, Astronomy, Arithmancy, and History of Magic. Now, as you are aware, we've had several students return to Hogwarts for the autumn term only; they will take their exams during the winter holiday and, if they are satisfied with the results, not return for the spring term. I believe, given your previous coursework in these subjects, this is an option you should consider, too. To be frank, Miss Granger, I wouldn't be surprised if you sat for the exams now and scored 'Outstanding' in most, if not all, of them."

Hermione blushed at the praise, though her heart was racing at the thought of taking her N.E.W.T.s in less than four months. "Would I be allowed to sit for my exams again in May if I didn't do well the first go round?"

Professor McGonagall hid her smile. She heard a rumor that Hermione's boggart was academic failure. Remembering how stressed out the poor girl was by the end of third year, she questioned proposing this option, but the fact of the matter was Hermione Granger needed to move on. She already had enough achievements tied to her name – academic and otherwise – to pursue the career of her choosing.

"I highly doubt that will be necessary, but of course," she assured the young witch.

* * *

><p>He paced the hallway, ignoring the looks, the whispers that followed his path. He glanced at the closed door. Next time, he told himself. The next time he passed it, he would knock. Sirius rubbed his damp palms on his jeans. He didn't want to do this. He wasn't ready to do this. He should be home, helping Remus move furniture into his and Tonks' new bedroom, or assisting Harry and Ron with whatever it was they bought Hermione for his birthday. Merlin, he hoped it wasn't another cat. His bed was covered in cat hair. He didn't know why Crookshanks had such an interest in him, but he wished he would stop even if he did sleep better with the beast purring next to him.<p>

There was the door, just eighteen steps away. He knew this because he counted earlier. Ten steps. He could walk by it. No one would know. He could turn around at the end of the hall. Or he could leave, come back another day. Three steps. Two. One. He stopped. Not giving himself time to think, he rapped on the door. When no one answered, he turned the knob and entered.

He didn't look different. For someone who was on his death bed four months ago, Severus Snape looked surprisingly well or, rather, well for him. The man had never looked healthy and he certainly didn't now - he was still pale, thin man with greasy hair and terrible teeth - but he wasn't nearly as gaunt as he was the last time Sirius saw him. The perpetual shadows under his eyes were gone, too, though the eyes themselves were still black as night and glaring daggers at him.

"Out!"

"Snape –"

"Didn't you hear me, Mutt?" Severus pointed his wand at his childhood tormenter, his hand steady despite the anger coursing through his veins. "Get out!"

Sirius stepped further in the room, shutting the door and warding it closed. He stuck his wand into his pocket and took the chair opposite of Snape, saying nothing as he waited for Severus to do whatever he planned on doing.

"Have you come to finish was Nagini couldn't?"

"I don't wish you dead, Snape."

"I'm sure you understand my disbelief, given that you tried to kill me when we were students," he sneered.

"Damn it, Snape! That was a joke!"

The man leaned forward, his voice cold. "Turning a classmate's hair green in a joke. Setting fireworks off during exams is a joke. Locking a student up with a werewolf is not a joke."

Sirius looked away. He knew he was right. He didn't know what possessed him to set Snape up that night, to not only give away Remus' secret to the person they hated the most, but to put him in a position to hurt someone. That was Remus' biggest fear – hurting an innocent person – and Snape had been innocent. He always was. He never would have done anything to him, to James, to _Lily_, if they hadn't thrown the first punch. "I know a lot of people have been by to see you, to apologize –"

"Do you think I care about that?" he hissed. "I do not need anyone's apology or admiration or gratitude, especially when it is given by those who do it in hopes that the words appease their guilt. You can take your apology and your newfound sense of responsibility, Black, and bugger off because nothing you say or do will change the past."

"I'm worried about Hermione."

Severus sat back, surprised by the change of topic though his face remained passive. "I don't know why you think I would concern myself with a bushy-haired swot."

Sirius' eyes were cold. "I understand that the bushy-haired swot is your only regular visitor. She's the one person you've not managed to piss off."

"Once again, Mutt, you are wrong," he sneered. "I anger her plenty."

"She still visits you."

"That witch lives to torture me; she's simply more subtle than you and Potter ever were."

Sirius' wand was in his hand before he realized it. "Do not say his name! You killed him!"

"The Dark Lord killed him."

"You told him the prophecy!"

"I made a mistake. If I could go back and do things differently, I would." His hand itched to rub the scar on his neck, but he refused to do so in front of Sirius Black. "I spent nearly two decades atoning for my sins. It is over and I am finished. The days of Severus Snape being the world's whipping boy are over."

Sirius lowered his wand, wishing Harry had never shared Severus' memories with him. It was so much easier to hate the man for being a greasy-haired git, a fucking Slytherin. He did not want to think of him as human, as someone who made mistakes and suffered because of them. "Thank you for protecting Harry."

"Someone had to."

"I could have done without him surviving the killing curse again."

"Dumbledore was a man of many secrets," Several drawled. "Had I known that Potter had to die, I would not have tried so hard to keep him safe."

Sirius opened his mouth to retort, but he saw the twitch of Severus' lips. Damn it! He was goading him! He was trying to make him angry so he would storm out of the room. Screw him! He was going to sit back and relax. Maybe he'd close his eyes and rest for a bit. He was pretty tired after pacing the hall for nearly an hour. "I'm not leaving until we talk about Hermione."

"I'm trying to imagine why you are worried about the girl. From what I recall, you never even spoke to her."

"Something's wrong with her."

"She's best friends with Weasley. Of course something is wrong with her."

"Her health, Snape!" Sirius snapped. "She's suffering migraines cause by apparition."

"Some people don't take to apparition, Black. Surely you aren't so dense as to forget that."

Sirius started pacing the room. "Not Hermione. She excelled at it, like she excels at everything. I remember because Harry still suffers from nausea –"

"He'll make an excellent auror," Severus interrupted.

" – but Hermione never did, not until earlier this year."

"She was a soldier in war, Black. Have you heard of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder?" Severus' voice slipped into lecture mode automatically. "It is a mental health problem caused by after a traumatic event, like war or assault. Mad-Eye suffered from it, though no one knew this and even if they did, we don't have a way to treat mental health issues in our world. Given your time in Azkaban, you likely have it, too. I assume you have nightmares, flashbacks; perhaps difficulty sleeping."

Sirius tried to ignore Sirius' words, the truthfulness of them affecting him more than a curse. He was fine. He was working on being fine. Hermione wasn't. "She has physical symptoms, Snape. I've seen it. She is pale, sweaty. Harry says the worse it ever was, it took her two days to have enough strength to get out of bed without vomiting."

"Considering what she endured, I'm not surprised. The Cruciatus Curse affects everyone differently."

"Hermione was _crucio'd_?!" Rage filled Sirius, a loud roaring in his head. "When? By who?" His wand was centered on Severus' chest. "Did you do it? Did you fucking torture her to keep your precious cover?"

"Potter didn't tell you?"

"What? What do you know that I don't?!"

"They were captured by snatchers in April and taken to Malfoy Manor for a reward. Miss Granger managed to disguise Potter, but she and Weasley were recognized, and Hermione tortured for information."

"Malfoy tortured her?" he hissed.

"Bellatrix," Severus corrected.

Sirius slumped to the floor. Hermione had been tortured. By his cousin. Fuck. Fuck!

"If you vomit on my floor, I will make you clean it up, Mutt."

"What happened?" he rasped. "What did that bitch do to her?"

"She tortured her, Black." Snape was emotionless as he gave the facts. "That's what she lived to do. When she didn't get what she wanted from the curse, she took a knife to Hermione's arm and carved 'Mudblood' into her skin."

He felt sick. "I haven't seen … Did Poppy heal it?"

"It cannot be healed. She wears a glamour."

"What do you mean it can't be healed? There are potions to heal scars!"

"Healing magic cannot work against cursed artifacts, Black." It took him less than a day after Hermione left to come to that conclusion, which Lucius later verified. Bellatrix loved cursing the objects she used on her victims. If they managed to escape, she wanted them to remember her.

"She never said … Harry never told me …" he looked Severus, a pleading expression on his face. "How do you know this?"

"She asked if I knew of a potion that could heal her scar," Severus informed him. "I had to examine it to see the depth of the damage. The skin tissue is dead. She cannot feel heat or cold in the infected area. I told her there was nothing I could do."

"But …" Sirius struggled against his urge to scream. To fight. To hit. Everyone he loved! Everyone he loved got hurt! What made him think he'd ever be good enough for her? They weren't even together and already she was suffering.

"The scar, while tragic, should not trigger migraines following multiple apparations."

Sirius looked up. "What?"

"If you are convinced something is wrong with Miss Granger, beyond the expected aftermath of war, I suppose I could do some research."

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You would do that for me?"

"No. I will never do anything for you, Black. However, I do owe Miss Granger a debt. If appeasing your concerns wipes the slate clean, so be it."

Sirius' hands were still shaking. He stuffed them in the pockets of his jeans. "What can I do to help?"

* * *

><p>Hermione entered the library, pleased to see that the renovations were finished and it looked as it did before the final battle. She'd walked through it after the war ended with Harry and Ron, their exploration cut short when she saw the blackened shelves. Both wizards tried to be sympathetic, but neither knew how to comfort Hermione as she cried over the destroyed books.<p>

"Miss Granger." Madam Pince wore her usual sour expression, though her lips were slightly less pursed in what she considered a smile. Most of the school's students were scared of the dour librarian, but Hermione got along with her, their mutual admiration and love of books the foundation of their relationship. Still, she was reluctant to hand over Professor McGonagall's note granting her permission to take several texts home.

"This is highly unorthodox," Madam Pince remarked as she skimmed the list after waving her wand over the note to test its authenticity.

"I appreciate your cooperation. You know I will care for them just as well as home as I would here."

The librarian sniffed. No one could care for these books more than she; though Miss Granger was the only student she'd ever tolerate taking the texts off school grounds. Pulling out a ledger bound in dark leather, she wrote each title by hand – some things were too sacred for magic – as the books floated to the desk.

"Madam, I apologize for interrupting, but a book is missing." Hermione consulted her list against the books on the counter in front of her. "_A History of_ _Blood Ties _by –"

"I am aware of the missing book, Miss Granger. "It is from the restricted section, meaning I would never allow it to leave this room, only it isn't here."

"But you just said you wouldn't let a student take it from the library."

"I said I would never allow the book to leave the room, Miss Granger. However, the headmaster can override my objections."

Hermione struggled to follow the conversation. She said headmaster, not headmistress. "Why would Professor Dumbledore check out a book? He's a painting."

"Not Professor Dumbledore, Miss Granger; Headmaster Snape."


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Honoring my one-post-a-week commitment with a day to spare. Yay!**

**Legalities: I do not own Harry Potter. These characters belong to J.K. Rowling and Scholastic, Inc. **

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><p>Sirius was rubbing his arm when he flooed into the kitchen, unaware of the redheaded woman glaring at him by the stove.<p>

"Where have you been?" she shrieked.

"Shit!" he stumbled back, banging his head on the stone mantel. He glared at Molly Weasley, who was frowning at him unsympathetically.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" she huffed, pushing him towards the kitchen door. "Hermione will be home any minute and the boys still haven't finished setting up. Harry's been asking for you and Remus – "

"I had an appointment," he muttered.

" – had no idea how many people to expect, so we couldn't set the table," Molly continued over Sirius' explanation.

"This was Harry's idea, Molly."

"Then find Harry and figure it out!" she yelled before sweeping back into the kitchen.

Sirius gingerly touched the back of his head, wincing at the bump. Great. First Snape practically drains him of blood, and then he suffers a mild concussion. He was already on edge. He did not need someone yelling at him.

"Sirius!"

He groaned as Tonks came rushing down the stairs, tripping on the bottom step and crashing into him, ramming his elbow into the banister in the process.

"Where have you been?" she cried, ignoring his wince as she stepped on his foot righting herself. "McGonagall's patronus just left; Hermione's on her way!"

She took off before he could answer.

"Padfoot!"

Sirius backed as far against the wall as he could, one hand held out in warning as Remus walked down the stairs. "Do not touch me."

Remus looked at him quizzically. Sirius was clenching his teeth. His face was flushed. "What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me is that I've had a shit day made better by every woman in this damn house causing bodily harm!"

Remus grinned. "I take it my wife was here."

"She should not be allowed to hold a wand," Sirius grumbled, his elbow throbbing.

"I highly doubt one run-in with Dora put you in this mood."

"Snape put me in this mood," he growled.

Remus' eyes went wide. He knew apologizing to the potions professor was on his list, but he honestly thought that would be the last task he'd tackle. "Snape? When did you - "

"Did you know?" Sirius glared at him.

"Did I know what?"

"About Hermione," he hissed, trying to keep the rage he felt since Snape spilled Hermione's secret from overtaking him.

Remus stared at Sirius. He looked furious, his eyes nearly black as he glowered at him. "Padfoot," he said carefully, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"She was tortured!" he shouted, making the wizard at the top of the stairs jump. Sirius looked up, his eyes locking on Harry's. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Wait," Remus rushed up the steps, standing between Sirius and Harry. "Sirius, just calm down for a minute, all right? Harry, what is he talking about?"

Harry shook his head. He'd never seen Sirius look so angry before. This wasn't like the Shrieking Shack, when he was pacing the cramped space ranting incoherently. This was barely-controlled fury – and it was directed at him.

Remus' heard his wife calling his name. Yelling that they'd be there in a minute, he grabbed Sirius' arm and hauled him up the stairs, pulling Harry with him as he strode down the hall, going into the first open door – Hermione's bedroom. He pulled the two inside, warding the three of them inside and putting up the strongest silencing spell he knew. "What the hell are you talking about, Sirius?"

"He's talking about what happened after we were caught by snatchers, when they took us to Malfoy Manor," Harry said quietly. He walked to Hermione's bed and sat, shoulders slumped. He didn't want to tell this story. He didn't want to remember how scared he was.

"Harry," Sirius pled. He needed to know.

"Ron and I weren't there, Sirius; not when it happened," he told him. "Pettigrew locked us in the dungeons, but we could hear her." He closed his eyes, remembering how helpless he felt, how Ron kept shouting Hermione's name, Hermione screaming the entire time. "I don't know how long it lasted, how many times that bitch cursed her, before we got to her."

Sirius slumped against the door. "Her arm?" he whispered.

Remus looked back and forth between his best friend and his other best friend's son, still trying to take in what Harry's words. "What's wrong with her arm?"

"She has the word 'Mudblood' carved into it," Sirius spat. Just saying it made him feel sick. He slid down the door to sit on the floor. All this time. All this time, she'd been running around, talking about her N.E.W.T.s and going to work at the Ministry and flirting with Zabini, pretending everything was fine, even trying to get him to stop feeling sorry for himself … He remembered the way he yelled at her outside of St. Mungo's, the way he grabbed her. Which arm was it? Did he hurt her?

"She won't let Ron and I talk about it," Harry tried to explain. "We've tried, but she tells us she's fine. I know she's not, Sirius. She has nightmares. She wakes up screaming. She tells me she's sorry over and over."

That was the worst part. The nightmares were terrible, but those Harry understood; he had them, too. If he wasn't running into her bedroom, she was crawling into his bed to comfort him. But the way she'd apologize, the way she'd beg for him not to hate her - that's what hurt.

"Why does she apologize?" Remus asked.

"The dagger that killed Dobby, that's what Bellatrix used on Hermione," he whispered. "Dobby got us out of dungeon. There was a fight and she had Hermione, the dagger at her throat. Dobby loosened the chandelier and we grabbed Hermione when it fell, but Bellatrix threw the knife before we could apparate and …" Harry took a deep breath. "That broke her. She'd been the strong one for so long. Ron and I had our moments of panic, of doubt, but she never did. When Dobby died, she shut down. It was like his death showed her how far the Death Eaters would go. They were going to kill us and think nothing of it."

Harry remembered Hermione kneeling on the beach by Dobby's headstone, too tired to cry, too weak to stand, her arm covered with her own dried blood, her hands tremoring with the aftershocks of the Cruciatus Curse. "She didn't talk, and she wouldn't eat or sleep. She just sat in a chair, looking outside. She didn't even cry. It wasn't until we learned the Sword of Gryffindor was at Gringotts that she started acting like herself again."

He felt the wards shift. Hermione was home. He walked to the door, waiting for Remus to let him through. When he did, he looked at them, his face devoid of emotion. "Don't let her know you know, not tonight," he told them. "It's not like one night of pretending is going to hurt anything."

Remus watched Harry leave, then turned to Sirius still sitting on the floor. He lowered to his haunches. "I didn't know," he said regretfully. "I swear, if I did …"

"Snape knew," Sirius rubbed his arm. "She asked him if he knew of a potion that could make it fade. He said the dagger was probably cursed."

The two wizards sat, imagining what the young witch had gone through. Neither one moved when they heard the opening of the front door, followed by nearly a dozen voices shouting "Happy birthday!"

"What are you going to do?" Remus asked Sirius, who shrugged helplessly. "I'm just as upset as you are that Harry didn't tell us, but I agree with him that now isn't the time to talk about this."

"Because it's a party?" he asked bitterly.

"Because you're dangerous," Remus told him. "If you confront her now, you can forget any progress you've made –"

"I don't fucking care about that!"

"What about Hermione?" Remus asked quietly. "If she refuses to talk about it with her closest friends, how do you think she'll react around a houseful of people?"

Sirius pushed himself to his feet and wandered around Hermione's room. She had a collection of framed photographs on the fireplace mantel, some still, and others moving. He picked up the one of her with her parents. She looked about 14, maybe 15; close to the age she was when he met her. She looked happy, her arms around both of her parents at the top of the Eiffel Tower. "She yelled at me," he laughed bitterly. "At St. Mungo's, she told me I wasn't the only one with problems."

"You do tend to blame yourself for a lot," Remus said quietly.

"Looks like I'm in good company, huh?" he scoffed.

Remus sat back, a look of consideration on his scarred face. Harry was complaining the other day that he barely saw Hermione since she started working at the Ministry. Between planning the fundraiser and revising for her N.E.W.T.s, she was spread thin. Perhaps that was the point. Sirius had his list, something to keep himself focused when the pain was too great. Maybe Hermione's projects did the same for her. "Does this change things?" he asked quietly.

Sirius looked up sharply. "What are you asking?"

"Torture, the scar, losing her parents, the nightmares," he ticked them off on his hand, watching Sirius flinch with each one. "She almost has as much baggage as you do."

"So, what, I'm supposed to just walk away?" Realization dawned on him. "You think I'm going to take off, don't you?"

"You've done it before when things got too real."

"Sound familiar?" Sirius sneered, regretting the words the moment he said them, but Remus only nodded.

"Yeah, it does."

"Moony …"

He held up a hand. "Don't. I know what I did, all right? I have to live with it and because I do, I want you to be damn sure you know what you're doing. She's fragile. You can't back away every time you get scared. If this is real, if you are going to do everything you promised, you better damn well mean it, starting now."

"I don't give a fuck about the scars," he whispered. "I just … I hate that she was hurt."

Remus pulled Sirius out of Hermione's room. "I know, but she survived. She's a fighter, Padfoot. She already decided she's going to save you, remember?"

He scoffed. "She does like her hopeless cases."

"Diamond in the rough, Pads; that's you."

They reached the stairs. Sirius could hear voices overlapping as people argued and laughed. Dished clanked as final dinner preparations were made. He couldn't remember the last time his house sounded like this, if it ever did.

"Go upstairs," Remus told Sirius. "Take a shower, get dressed, and come down for dinner. Harry's right; tonight is not the night to do this."

"When is?"

"You'll know it when it happens."

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><p>They'd started eating by the time Sirius felt calm enough to join everyone in the dining room. He stood in the doorway, watching as Hermione laughed at something George said before she looked up and caught his eye, her smile growing wider.<p>

"Sirius!" Molly got up and walked over to him, the way she yelled at him in the kitchen forgotten as she pulled him to the empty seat by Harry and began piling food on his plate. "I'm so glad you're feeling better."

He looked at the matronly witch in confusion.

"Harry told them you weren't feeling the best when you got home," Remus stressed from across the table. Sirius glanced at Harry, who met his eyes briefly before looking away.

"Are you all right now?" Arthur Weasley asked.

"Fine, thanks," he replied, grateful for the excuse. "I just needed to lay down for a bit. I'm sure I'll feel even better after I eat. Everything looks wonderful, Molly."

She preened under his praise, ruffling his dark locks before taking her seat. Sirius nudged Harry in the shoulder, giving him a wink when he looked up. He saw the tension drain from his godson as he smiled back.

"So, Molly," Sirius began, cutting into his roast beef, "I'm sure you've heard that when Harry leaves Monday, we're in danger of starving here."

Molly chuckled, well aware of the lack of culinary skills around the dining room table. Even magic couldn't help those who are hopeless in the kitchen.

"Trying to hit her up for cooking lessons, cousin?" Tonks joked as she reached for the platter of steamed broccoli, Remus automatically reaching for her wine glass before it toppled over.

"Hell no; I'm wrangling for regular dinner invitations."

"You don't know what you're asking for, mate," Fred warned him. "Dinner at the Weasley house is an open invitation to criticize every aspect of your life."

"Why do you think we learned to cook?" George added, ducking at the dinner roll his father threw at him.

"We raised an ungrateful lot, Molly," Arthur said, holding up his wine glass up to his wife.

She smiled fondly at her husband, picking up her own glass to salute him. "Thank goodness the ones we consider our own turned out so well," she told him, smiling at Harry and Hermione. "Happy birthday, Hermione."

Glasses were raised and clinked together before the conversation started again.

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><p>"Is this really necessary?" Hermione asked, holding her arms out, feet shuffling as she carefully made her way down the hall to the drawing room, Harry in front of her and Ron at her back, his hands resting on her shoulders.<p>

"Just a bit more," Harry encouraged.

"I swear, if this is a prank, I will ruin your chances to ever give Molly grandchildren," she threatened, listening for Fred and George, who disappeared after she blew out the candles on her birthday cake.

"Bloody hell, Hermione; do you always need to go there?" Ron grumbled.

"When you find something that works –"

"All right!" Harry yelled, standing at the closed door after peeking inside to make sure that everything was as it should. "Ready?"

Ron whipped off the blindfold and Harry threw open the door. Hermione peeked in cautiously, her mouth falling open when she saw the television and VCR on an oak stand against the wall in the center of the room that, until a few days ago, was a catchall for discarded furniture. It had been cleared and cleaned, the wood floor polished and the walls charmed a light gray. A dark gray, blue and white patterned rug was on the floor, with an L-shaped blue sofa and oversized armchair framing the rug's edges. A narrow table lined with drawers was stationed behind the longest section of the sofa and a sturdy coffee table sat in the middle of the rug.

"What did you do?" Hermione asked, walking into the room.

"Ron and I figured it out," Harry said excitedly, pulling Hermione to the couch and pushing her down. Picking up a remote control from the coffee table, he punched a button and the television turned on.

"It took a few tries and I really hope Mum doesn't have a reason to see the back of the garage anytime soon, but we pulled it off." Ron plopped on the couch next to Hermione, resting his feet on the table.

"Sirius and Remus did the room," Harry continued. "And Tonks and I made a trip to Muggle London to get you this." He reached behind the armchair and pulled out a large box wrapped in maroon paper with a gold bow.

"That's from us, too," George announced, sitting on Hermione's other side.

"Yeah, we weren't allowed to go with them, but they were more than happy to take our money," Fred joked from his perch on the couch's armrest.

"I'm not brave enough to go with you and George to Muggle London," Harry rolled his eyes. "Taking Tonks was hard enough."

"Hey!" the pink-haired witch yelled from where she was standing inside the doorway with her husband's arm around her, elbowing him when he snorted.

"Open it!" Molly straightened the knitted throw in varying shades of blue tossed over the back of the armchair, her contribution to Hermione's gift, slapping Ron's feet off the table as her way back to Arthur, who was watching the television in fascination.

Hermione stuck the bow on George's forehead before ripping off the paper and lifting the lid. "You didn't," she started laughing, pulling out several VHS video tapes.

"We did," Harry grinned as she piled the movies on the coffee table.

The movies were Sirius' idea. He'd wanted to see _When Harry Met Sally_ ever since Hermione told him about it and gave Harry money to buy a copy. Ron jumped in with requests for movies Hermione had told him about and they soon had a list of nearly two dozen movies to purchase, several of which were Hermione's favorites.

"This is so sweet," Hermione sniffed, looking at the brightly-colored covers. The boys usually gave her books for her birthday.

"I know the television isn't a just for you present, Hermione, but we thought it might be fun to do the movie nights you used to do with your parents," Harry explained. "We even bought _Mary Poppins_."

"Harry told me a little about her," Tonks walked further into the room, picking up the Disney movie. "He said she can fly and has a bag with an extension charm. Is she a witch?"

"No," George protested. "We are not watching a kid movie."

"You don't even know if it is a kid movie," Harry argued.

"You said it was Hermione's favorite when she was a little girl," George retorted. "Kid movie."

Remus picked up the copy of _Star Wars_ and handed it to Sirius. "Remember when Lily took us to see this, Padfoot?"

Sirius grinned, recalling his fascination with lightsabers. He and James had reenacted the fight scene between Obi-Wan Kenobi and Darth Vader for weeks, the latter ending up in the infirmary after Sirius poked him in the eye with his wand.

"They made two more movies after _Star Wars_," Hermione told him, hiding her smile when his face lit up in excitement.

"So what are we watching?" Ron asked, moving to put his feet back on the coffee table, stopping only when his mother glared at him.

"Is everyone staying?" Hermione asked, trying to decide which movie would be the most appealing to everyone.

"Arthur and I need to go," Molly announced, taking Arthur by the arm and pulling him away from the television.

Hermione got up to hug the couple good bye, thanking them for the dinner and birthday cake. "I know the blanket is from you," she continued, hugging Molly tightly. "Thank you."

"You are welcome, dear; don't let the boys keep you up too late."

Arthur patted the top of her head distractedly, his eyes staring longingly at the television. His wife sighed heavily and practically dragged him from the room.

"So, movie night," Hermione turned to see everyone getting comfortable. "That means popcorn."

Sirius jumped up. "I'll help you with that, little one. It's your birthday, after all."

Twenty minutes later, she was sitting on the couch in-between Ron and Harry, Sirius at her feet, one of her legs over his shoulder to he could rest his head against her thigh. Remus and Tonks were curled in the armchair and Fred, having won the Galleon toss against his brother, was stretched out on the chaise portion of the couch with George sprawled on the floor.

"I can't believe you're making us watch Shakespeare," Ron grumbled, having overheard Hermione and Remus gush about the playwright enough to know he was in for a boring evening. Sirius agreed with the redhead, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

"You'll like this version of _Romeo+Juliet_," Hermione promised. "They set it in modern times, with guns instead of swords."

Ron rolled his eyes, knowing his idea of entertainment was extremely different than Hermione's. His opinion, like Sirius', changed after the first gunfight. The Animagus was so entranced, he didn't even notice when Hermione started running her fingers through his hair, not stopping until the credits appeared on the screen.

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><p>It was nearly two in the morning when Sirius crept to the kitchen in search of leftover birthday cake. Hermione had gone to bed after <em>Romeo+Juliet<em>, but Harry and Ron and the twins had stayed up to watch _Back to the Future_. Time travel gave Sirius a headache, so he left shortly after Remus and Tonks went to bed, but couldn't sleep. He paused outside Hermione's door wondering if this was a night she'd be able to sleep.

Sirius wasn't impervious to nightmares. When he escaped Azkaban, the dreams were relentless to the point where he fought sleep because every time he closed his eyes, he was back in his cell. The cold seared his bones, the hopelessness filled his soul. He'd wake up shouting James' and Harry's names, eyes wide as he waited for the sun to rise. The terrors eased with time. What once happened every night eventually shifted to every other night, before fading from a few times a week to a few times a month, though they never truly went away; not completely. In some ways, not knowing when he'd wake up gasping for breath, scared of what he'd see when he opened his eyes, made it worse.

Touching Hermione's door briefly, Sirius hoped tonight would be a good night for the witch and continued on his quest, unsurprised when he saw a strip of light under the kitchen door. He fully expected to see Remus enjoying more of the chocolate cake, but instead it was Hermione seated at the kitchen table with several pieces of parchment, a crumb-covered plate pushed to the side.

"Great minds think alike?" he asked, gesturing to the plate at her questioning look.

"More like it's better to get a piece now before Remus devours the rest," she grinned.

He smirked and, knowing she was right, cut a bigger piece than what he wanted. "Please tell me you're not studying," he told Hermione, glancing at the largest piece of parchment covered in multi-color squares.

"Why would you say that?"

"Harry told be about your color-coded revising schedule fifth year." She blushed slightly, the color deepening when Sirius laughed. "You're making a schedule, aren't you?"

"I have to," she defended. "Professor McGonagall wants me to take the N.E.W.T.s after the hols and the fundraiser will be sometime in December and I want to be able to spend time with Harry when he's home from training and –"

She stopped talking when Sirius forced a mouthful of cake in her mouth, smirking as she had to stop talking to chew or choke. "Busy girl," he murmured, picking up another parchment, holding it out of her reach when she made a grab for it. "And this is …" He broke off when he realized it was from Blaise Zabini. He handed it back to Hermione, telling himself he wouldn't ask if she said yes to his request for a date that night. She took it without saying a word, picking up a pen to write something on the bottom, folding it in thirds and setting it aside.

"I thought you were going out with Harry and Ron tonight," Sirius muttered, hating himself for saying something.

"I am," she answered quietly, her eyes back on the biggest parchment. "I hadn't had time to tell him."

He stuffed another bite in his mouth to keep himself from commenting.

"Are you going to come with us? I know it would mean a lot to Harry."

And you, he wanted to ask. What would it mean to you? Instead he swallowed and nodded. "It's going to be weird not having him here. I never got to have him around as much as I wanted in the first place, so the last few weeks have been great. I can almost imagine what it would have been like if Remus and I had been the ones to take care of him."

Hermione smiled, trying to picture how Harry would have turned out had he been raised under Sirius' influence. She decided a brown-haired version of Draco Malfoy was the closest fit; perhaps not as mean, but he'd certainly would have had Sirius' confidence. "Did Harry talk to you about ..." she trailed off, not wanting to say more in case they weren't the only ones up late.

"Don't worry, little one; Remus and I have it covered."

"Excellent."

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><p><strong>AN: ****We've had a couple of serious chapters. At this point, all the plot points are out there, now it's just a matter of tying things together. Don't worry, the next chapter is a fun one. I'm ready for it, too. **


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Thank you for reading! My apologies for the slow build. It's not like me, but hopefully it will be worth it in the end.**

**Legalities: I do not own Harry Potter. These characters belong to J.K. Rowling and Scholastic, Inc. **

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><p><em>"<em>_Is there a right time?"_

_"__You'll know when it happens."_

This wasn't it, Sirius thought as he watched Hermione lift the fork to her mouth, pink lips closing around the bite of cake, a crumb of frosting at the corner of her mouth as she chewed. He had an urge to lick it off, to move his mouth over hers and taste the sweetness of the cake mixed with the sweetness that was pure Hermione.

_Eleven weeks._

He had no idea how long he sat there, listening to her talk about her upcoming exams and the war memorial. He liked how she had no qualms picking up the fork from the plate that had held her slice of midnight snack birthday cake so she could steal bites of his as she answered his questions about the remaining _Star Wars _films. They were not among the movies Harry and Tonks picked out for Hermione's birthday, but she promised to go with him to Muggle London so he could buy them.

"How about Monday?" she asked, handing him the milk she poured for him only after he drank hers. She had smacked his hand, but had no room to argue when he pointed out that she had eaten nearly half of his cake. "We can go after Harry leaves."

"Monday's not good for me."

"Why?"

He had to go to the Ministry Monday afternoon. Kingsley had owled that afternoon to say there was a cabinet meeting he was expected to attend. Luckily, Remus had intercepted the Ministry's owl and taken the letter before anyone else saw it. "I have an appointment," he lied.

"You had an appointment today."

Shit. He used to be better at this. "Is there a law against having more than on appointment in a given week?"

She cocked her head to the side, considering. "Not if one isn't being deliberately vague."

"One is not being vague," he grumbled, already hating the Wizengamont. "One just doesn't feel the need to share every moment of his day with others."

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but he was clearly annoyed. She wondered what kind of appointment he'd have needed to be kept a secret and then it hit her, the realization making her blush as she started gathering her things.

He didn't like the look on her face. It was embarrassment coupled with a flash of defeat. What was going through her head? "Hermione -"

She shook her head, avoiding his eyes. "It's none of my business," she said quickly, sending her dishes to the sink with a quick jerk of her wand. Sirius heard something break on impact, but that didn't stop Hermione from hurrying to the door, pausing just long enough to thank him for her birthday present.

No, this wasn't the right time.

* * *

><p>She felt like an idiot. Hermione frowned at the dark pink polish on her fingernails, wiping away a tiny smudge on her thumb, wishing it was possible to erase the memory of Sirius in the kitchen just as quickly.<p>

An appointment. She snorted as she tightened the lid on the bottle on nail polish. He was seeing a woman. Why else would he look panicked at the idea of telling her why he couldn't go shopping with her? She'd understand if he had an actual appointment – perhaps meeting with the goblins at Gringotts or going to the pub with Remus – so the fact that he didn't tell her what it was meant he was doing something he didn't want her to know about. She tried to think of what Sirius could do on the sly that would upset her and the only thing that made sense was another woman.

Dammit, he was not making this easy! The man could go from vulnerable to impervious at the drop of a hat; just when she thought she had a handle on him, he'd say or do something that threw her. She didn't know what he wanted, what he needed. She thought they'd made progress when he kissed her. He had yelled at her. He was frustrated and furious, and she loved it. She hadn't seen that kind of emotional release from him in ages, not that she saw him much the past year, being on the run with Harry and Ron while he and Remus fought with the Order going. She had hoped, wished, that with the war finally over, the Sirius Black from the stories Remus told Harry would break free from the emotional confine caused by years in Azkaban. That Sirius made brief appearances during his year on the run and self-confinement at Grimmauld Place – she'd never met anyone so loud, so desperate for human contact and conversation – but was overshadowed by the man who was often preoccupied, haunted. The nights he didn't find her in the library, she'd hear him roam the halls of Grimmauld Place, anxiously pacing as he wanted for daylight to chase away the demons. She didn't expect miracles, she knew he came with baggage, but she did, too. She had hoped that by offering her heart, he would see that the future – their future, if she was being honest with herself – was something worth fighting for.

Hermione settled into her bed, lights still on, a thick book in her lap, her mind too wired to sleep. It all comes back to fighting. Fighting Death Eaters. Fighting Bellatrix. Fighting Voldemort. She was tired of fighting. She knew pursuing Sirius Black wouldn't be simple, but she honestly didn't know if she had the energy to fight for him anymore. Harry said she needed to enjoy being young. Blaise said she should explore what they could have together. Remus told her to trust her instincts.

"_Did you ever think that, I don't know, maybe he's not ready for you?"_

Maybe she was fooling herself. Maybe instead of Sirius not being ready for her, she wasn't ready for him. Maybe she never would be.

Hermione closed her eyes and thought of Blaise. He was like Sirius in so many ways – beautiful with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, and kind, however they tried to hide it. While both wizards were wealthy, Blaise seemed to have a sense of ambition Sirius lacked. She felt comfortable when she was with him. He made her laugh and listened to her like she was the only woman in the world. If she wasn't so frustrated with Sirius, she'd admit that he did that, too. Perhaps that was why both had such colorful reputations.

Their kisses were not the same. When she kissed Blaise, it felt like she was sliding into a sea of water in which she could float, knowing he'd be there to keep her from drowning. When Sirius kissed her, she felt like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, and he was the only one who could stop her from falling while simultaneously telling her to jump.

She wanted to jump – and she wanted him with her when she did.

* * *

><p>"You look fantastic."<p>

Hermione finished buckling the thin strap of her black heeled sandal around her ankle before looking up to smile at Ron. "You look nice, too," she told him, taking in his dark jeans and blue T-shirt.

He glanced down at his clothes and shrugged. He didn't put a lot of effort into dressing for tonight's outing to some club in Muggle London he'd never heard of – Harry's idea, as he didn't relish the thought of spending their last night before leaving for the auror training academy being stared at by witches and wizards in awe of The Boy Who Lived Twice.

"I want to be anonymous," he told Hermione. "I want to have fun without worrying that whatever we do will end up on the front page of _The Daily Prophet_."

"Anonymity it is," she promised.

Taking Ron's offered hand, she stood, her hands smoothing down the sleeveless shirt she wore over black leather pants. Another creation by Tonks, the shirt was black until her waist, where the color blurred gray before fading into white at the hem. Ron flopped on Hermione's bed as she finished getting ready, sliding several silver bracelets on her arm, murmuring an incantation to charm the necklace around her neck to triple in length so the medallion dangled just below her breasts. She was pulling her curls into a low ponytail when Harry walked into the room, also wearing dark jeans, but with maroon button-down shirt. He had rolled the sleeves to his elbows; something he'd taken to doing after Hermione told him girls loved it when guys did that. He whistled at Hermione before joining Ron on the bed, nudging his friend when he grunted hello.

"You look like we're off to have dinner at your aunt Muriel's," Harry joked.

"Don't bother trying," Hermione told him as she dug through her jewelry box for a pair of earrings. "He's in pouting mode."

Harry rolled his eyes. He loved Luna; he truly did, but Ron's infatuation with the petite blond was beginning to amend his feelings for his best friend. "Ron, you can't still be upset that Luna can't go out with us tonight. She's at Hogwarts."

"She could have tried harder," Ron grumbled.

"I'm sure Professor McGonagall would have understood had Luna explained to her that our Gryffindor evening –"

"And one Hufflepuff," Hermione reminded Harry.

"– and one Hufflepuff would be the end-of-the-war celebration we were too exhausted to have in May."

"You'll see her at Christmas," Hermione reminded him, picking up her purse and walking to the bedroom door, waiting for the boys to join her.

"That's four months away," Ron grumbled, walking down the stairs to the study where everyone was waiting.

When Harry announced he wanted a Gryffindor Night Out before leaving for the academy, he wasn't kidding. The study was packed with lions from several Hogwarts classes. Fred and George were there with Katie and Angelina. Seamus and Dean were going to meet them later. Neville, like Luna, had opted to return to Hogwarts to finish his seventh year, so the Harry passed out shots of firewhiskey, everyone toasting their friend before swallowing the alcohol.

"Keep that up, and we won't need to go to a club," Remus cautioned as he walked into the room with Tonks, the lone Hufflepuff amongst the lions.

"Speaking of, where are we going, Hermione?" Harry asked.

She had considered the options carefully. Knowing Blaise and Draco were regulars in the Muggle London night scene, she wanted to avoid Siren's Song. After several days of pursuing Muggle entertainment guides, she made her choice: The Lion's Den. There was no way the Slytherins would consider a club named after their rivals worthy of their presence.

"Sirius," Tonks yelled up the stairs. "Get your arse down here so we can leave!"

He strolled in a minute later, dressed in black jeans and a gray button-down shirt. Like Harry, he'd rolled the sleeves up, showing the ink on his toned arms. Hermione avoided looking at him, not wanting Harry to guess that when she told him girls loved when guys rolled up long-sleeved shirts, she was talking about herself and his godfather.

"Let's go!" Fred shouted, taking Katie's arm and leading her to the front door.

They apparated to Diagon Alley, walking through the Leaky Cauldron, greeting Tom at the bar before exiting on to the busy London street. Harry and Hermione hailed several cabs, splitting the group in half for the ride to The Lion's Den. Hermione ended in a cab with Tonks, Angelina and Katie, the latter two talking excitedly about the night ahead.

"Any particular reason you're dressed to kill?" Tonks murmured to Hermione.

"Any particular reason you're smirking in that way you do when you're up to something?" the witch replied.

"He couldn't stop looking at you."

Hermione didn't even try to pretend she didn't know who Tonks was talking about. The woman was an auror. It was her job to read people. Tonks sighed, wishing Sirius and Hermione would get over their issues already. She loved her cousin and she adored Hermione. While Remus took longer to come around to the idea of the polar opposites as a couple, she was in favor of the pairing, merely giving her husband a steady look when he mentioned their age difference.

_"__It's none of our business, Dora."_

_She snorted. "He's your best friend and my cousin, and she's someone we both care about. It couldn't be more our business if she really was your sister."_

_He had turned away then, taking longer to choose a shirt from the closet than necessary; a sure sign that there was something he wasn't telling her. He was a terrible liar, but she didn't want to make him betray Sirius' confidence._

_"__She's good for him, Remus."_

_"__I know that, Dora."_

_"__Does he?"_

_Remus tucked the hunter green shirt in his trousers. When he first heard Sirius' plan to get his head straight before going after Hermione, he admired his friend's courage in facing the demons he'd spent years avoiding. Drinking. Smoking. Women. Sirius tried it all, did it all, to bury the pain, but he knew years of self-abuse couldn't be healed in three months. He was sure Padfoot did, too. Where that left him and Hermione, he didn't know._

_He looked at his wife, who was trying to project an aura of patience as she waited for his answer. She was more like Sirius than she realized. When she wanted something, she went after it and to hell with whomever or whatever got in her way. If it hadn't been for her damn stubbornness, he'd likely be living a miserable existence alone, convinced he wasn't good enough for her. He walked over and took her face in his hands, kissing her fiercely, whispering "I love you" against her lips._

_She slid her arms around his waist, smiling at the stubborn werewolf. "I love you, too."_

He'd distracted her, she thought now. He knew it, too. If he didn't want to tell her what Sirius was thinking, she'd let it go – for now. But the moment it looked like he was on the verge of screwing everything up, she was stepping in.

* * *

><p>After one mixed drink that Hermione didn't bother to learn the name of and two shots of something sweet , she was enjoying the pleasant buzz that made it easier to focus on her friends rather than the dark-haired wizard talking to a blond near the bar. Harry was laughing at something Dean said, his green eyes sparkling brighter than they had in months. Ron had shaken off his earlier mood and was playing pool with Seamus, while Fred was snogging Katie at the large table they'd claimed as their own.<p>

"I want to dance," Hermione announced, looking at Harry expectantly.

"No," he shook his head, memories of the Yule Ball keeping his arse firmly in his seat.

She rolled her eyes and turned to Angelina who pushed George towards her in response. "Take him," she cried. "I need a break!"

"Do you see how she treats me?" George joked, taking Hermione's hand as they walked down the stairs to the dance floor.

"She adores you," Hermione laughed, struggling to keep up with George's enthusiastic moves. "It's difficult not to."

He grinned, taking her hand in his to spin her in circles, stopping only when she threatened bodily harm, not knowing gray eyes were watching her from the balcony. Remus walked up to Sirius, shaking his head at the man's contemplative expression. "It's time, Pads."

He forced himself to look away from the witch who looked happier than he'd seen in weeks. This was why he was waiting, he told himself. She needed this. She deserved it.

"Sirius?"

"Yeah," he finished his drink. "Let's go."

* * *

><p>"Come on, Ron," Fred wheedled an hour later, placing a cold beer in front of his brother. "Your moping is bringing me down."<p>

"Luna's presence this evening is a lost cause," George added, smirking as he looked over his brother's head. "It's not like she knows someone with a map identifying secret passages out of Hogwarts."

"Or knew two Marauders willing to be waiting at the end of one of those passages to escort her to you," Fred continued.

Ron looked up, his eyes narrowed on his brothers' grinning faces. "What are you saying?"

"Neville!" Hermione shouted, sliding off the chair she was sharing with Harry to give her friend a hug. Ron watched the reunion in confusion. Neville was supposed to be at Hogwarts. With Luna. There's no way McGonagall would have allowed him to spend a Saturday night in London. He turned in his seat to see Remus and Sirius grinning at him, Luna standing in-between them. "You're here!" he cried, rushing forward to pick her up, swinging her around once before kissing her soundly.

"Any troubles?" Harry asked Sirius who took Ron's abandoned chair and helped himself to the redhead's beer.

"Please," he rolled his eyes. "I was sneaking out of Hogwarts before you were a glint in your father's eye."

"My husband, the rule breaker. I don't think I've ever found you more attractive." Tonks beamed at Remus who flushed under her attention, his embarrassment increasing when she grabbed him by the front of his shirt and kissed him, the need to finish what they started earlier suddenly overwhelming. "We're calling it a night, kids. Hermione, you're in –" Tonks looked around the table, but didn't see the curly-haired witch. Deciding Harry could be in charge instead, she called good-bye over her shoulder as she dragged him to the exit; Ron and Luna close behind them.

"Where are they going?" Harry asked.

"Our flat," Fred replied. "I told him we'd meet them there in a few hours to help Luna and Neville sneak back to Hogwarts."

"It was either that or submit ourselves to several hours of watching Ron snog the girl," George concluded.

"As someone who saw enough of that sixth year, I say thank you," Harry replied, holding up his beer in salute.

Sirius listened to the exchange casually as his eyes roamed the bar in search of Hermione. He saw Seamus, Dean and Neville at the end of the table, several empty shot glasses in front of them. He leaned over the balcony to check out the dance floor, spotting her immediately amongst the crowd, dancing with Katie and Angelina.

"Fancy a game of pool?" Harry asked him.

Sirius watched Hermione shout something to Katie, the dark-haired witch nodding enthusiastically in response. Satisfied they were well; he walked with Harry to the pool table.

* * *

><p>"Don't look, but he's watching you again!" Angelina giggled.<p>

Hermione rolled his eyes. "How am I supposed to know who you are talking about without looking?"

"Fine, look, but don't make it obvious you're looking," she advised. "Spin around or something."

Hermione held her hand out to Katie, who looked confused before grasping it in understanding, the two witches twirling each other, Hermione's eyes focused on the bar near the dance floor. "The blond?" she asked.

"Yes."

He was cute. Tall. Broad. A bit too clean-cut for her, but seeing as the object of her affection was maintaining a careful distance, perhaps some harmless flirting would ease the sting of rejection. "How do you want to play this?"

Katie bounced on her heels, loving the devious look in Hermione's eyes. The last time she saw her looking like that, they ended up doing something that Fred thanked her for repeatedly. "I vote for drunk girlfriend confession."

Angelina nodded in agreement. "It's a classic for a reason."

Knowing she was outnumbered, Hermione followed her friends to the bar, the two older girls immediately stumbling over each other as they practically shouted at the bartender to place their orders. Minutes later, shot glasses in hand, the girls toasted, swallowing the liquid before Katie turned to the blond with a huge smile on her face.

"Hi! What's your name?"

He looked amused. "Tom."

"Tom," she repeated, holding out her hand. "I'm Katie and these are my friends, Angelina and Hermione."

He nodded at them. "Nice to meet you."

Katie leaned closer. "I'm not supposed to say anything, but we saw you earlier and thought it was a shame you aren't dancing. Is there a reason why?"

Tom laughed, loving the girl's directness. "No reason."

"So if someone were to ask you to dance, you'd say yes?"

"Sure."

She smiled at him. "That's good to know, isn't it, girls?"

Angelina nodded while Hermione looked down at the floor, feigning embarrassment. She could tell Tom was eating it up. Why couldn't all men be this easy?

Tom opened his mouth to say something, but then Katie slapped her hand over her mouth, eyes panicked. Angelina swooped in, saying something about needing to find a restroom and pulled her friend away, leaving Hermione alone.

"Feeling abandoned?" Tom grinned.

"I told them that last shot was a bad idea," she replied, holding out her hand, his engulfing hers. "It was nice to meet you."

She wasn't surprised when he tugged her closer. "I believe your friend mentioned dancing. If you aren't needed in the loo, would you like to dance with me?"

* * *

><p>Angelina and Katie were still giggling when they got back to the table. When Fred asked them what was so funny, they pointed to the dance floor, where Hermione had her arms around the neck of a blond in a green T-shirt. Sirius' eyes narrowed as the man slid his hands lower on Hermione's back, until they grazed her leather-covered arse. He was out of his chair before he could question his actions, walking down the stairs and pushing his way onto floor, grabbing Hermione out of the other man's arms.<p>

"Hey buddy –"

"I'm not your buddy," he growled. "And your dance is over."

Tom looked at Hermione who was glaring at the older man. "Do you know him?"

"Unfortunately," she crossed her arms over her chest. "What do you want, Sirius?"

"A dance," he said, pulling her body flush with his, not missing the catch in her breath or the way her eyes darkened slightly. She slapped her hands against this chest to push away, but he tightened his grip, lowering his head to murmur in her ear. "One dance, little one. I won't bite – unless you want me to."

The blond – Hermione was having a difficult time remembering his name with Sirius leering at her the way he was, his large palm on her lower back possessively – glanced uncertainly between the pair. "Are you OK with him?" he finally asked.

"When I don't want to strangle him," she replied, sliding her arms around Sirius' neck, her fingers tangling in the ends of his hair and pulling, smirking when his own eyes darkened in response. He dismissed Tom with a sneer.

"That wasn't very nice," she told him.

"Says the overly friendly witch," he shot back.

"Please," she snorted. "I saw you at the bar with the blond earlier."

"Jealous?"

"I was going to ask the same of you."

He pulled her closer, putting an end to their conversation. She responded by rubbing her body against his, slowly, smirking at his quiet groan. "You're drunk," he told her.

"I'm inebriated. I'm not drunk," she replied.

"What's the difference?"

"Drunk is when one loses all sense of self and acts in a manner that will fill them with regret in the morning. Inebriated means I've had enough alcohol to mute that damn voice in my head that tells me I'm doing something wrong when I know I'm doing something right."

He lifted a hand to tuck a loose curl behind her ear. "And what is the right thing you're doing, little one?"

She didn't respond, but stood on her tiptoes, untangling her hands from his hair to cup his face, pulling him down until his lips met hers. She ignored the music, the lights, and the press of strangers' bodies against them as she poured herself into the kiss, pressing herself against him. This wasn't like their first kiss, fueled by anger and frustration, nor did it have the sweetness of their second. This was seduction. Hermione's lips teased his before she opened her mouth, inviting him in, swallowing his groan as her tongue swept inside his mouth.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: I got the outline of this story fixed after a few things that came out of nowhere threw my original plan for a loop. We're looking at about 27 chapters when it's all said and done. Please note a few lines were added to the flashback to make sense of the shift from Hermione's POV to Sirius'. It was lost in the final edits, posting.**

**Legalities: I do not own Harry Potter. These characters belong to J.K. Rowling and Scholastic, Inc. **

* * *

><p>"RON!"<p>

Hermione stepped out of the twins' fireplace, propelled by alcohol, scorn and self-righteous anger. While a small part of her knew interrupting one of her best friends and his girlfriend during their last night together was downright criminal, she also decided during the cab ride from the club to the Leaky Cauldron that if she wasn't having sex tonight, no one else should, either.

"What?!" Ron ran out of George's bedroom, clutching the purple sheet wrapped around his waist. "Who's hurt? Is it Dad? Mum? Is everyone at St. Mungo's? Are we meeting them there?"

Hermione felt a stab of regret for giving Ron an anxiety attack. "Everyone's fine!"

"What?" he asked breathlessly.

"Everyone is fine," she repeated. "I just …" she burst out crying, throwing her arms around Ron.

"Bloody hell," he sighed, one hand absently patting Hermione on the shoulder, the other getting a firmer grip on the sheet.

"Ron?" Luna poked her head out of George's room, wearing Ron's discarded T-shirt. "Oh Hermione," she said softly, walking over to take her friend from Ron, leading her to the couch where she immediately curled into a ball, her head on Luna's lap. The blond ran her fingers through Hermione's hair, letting her cry, not uncomfortable in the least. She was a big believer in letting feelings out; something her friend needed to do more often.

"Luna?"

She smiled at Ron. "Why don't you get dressed, love," she suggested. "And maybe put George's room back together."

He sighed reluctantly, but turned to do what she suggested. He owed his brothers' for getting her to him that night. He would repay them by vanishing the evidence of their reunion.

"Hermione," Luna whispered. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" she sniffed. "I'm the one that ruined your night."

Luna kissed the top of Hermione's head. "Just between us girls, Ron was not ready for another round, no matter how much he insisted otherwise. Six times is nothing to be ashamed of."

Hermione sat up. _"Six times?!"_

Luna smiled serenely.

"Well done, Ron," Hermione murmured.

"There's something to be said for dating the youngest brother," Luna continued, her eyes dreamy as she stared at George's closed door as if she could see through it though knowing Luna, maybe she could. "He has this need to prove himself."

Hermione considered Luna's words for a moment then shook her head. She didn't care about Ron's issues. At least he had someone who loved him, not someone who cared about him, someone who would hold him, someone would fucking shag him!

"But you didn't come here to talk about Ron," Luna looked at her knowingly. "What happened with Sirius?"

Hermione's mouth fell open. "Did Ron –"

She shook her head. "He hasn't said a word, Hermione, but if you don't might me saying, it's quite obvious how you feel about each other."

"It is?"

"You love him. He loves you."

She expected more tears, but instead she felt anger. "He doesn't love me."

Luna tilted her head, curious. "And why would you say that?"

Hermione's cheeks blazed as she remembered how she pulled him off the dance floor, looking for a secluded corner, an empty bathroom – anyplace they could go and have a moment of privacy. She spotted the storage room, the Muggle lock giving way to her _Alohomora _within seconds.

_His hands were on her waist, flexing ever so slightly as he pulled her to him, her back to his front, as she allowed her eyes to adjust to the dark. It was a miniscule room, the super sweet lemon scent of air freshener giving her a slight headache, but then his lips found her neck, and she didn't care. "Sirius," she moaned, her arms going up to encircle his head, pulling him closer. She felt him chuckle softly in response, one hand slowly moving to rest on her stomach before sliding underneath her shirt, making her jump as skin met skin. His hand was calloused and warm._

_"__Do you have any idea?" he whispered. "Do you?"_

_"__What?"_

_"__What you do to me," he continued, his lips now tracing the shell of her ear, the hand on her stomach pulling her closer. There was no mistaking his arousal pressed against her back. "Fuck, Hermione … you make me so hard."_

_She turned in his arms, pulling his head down to press her lips to his once more. She wanted to hear more, needed to hear more, but she needed to feel him. So long. She had wanted him for so long._

_He walked her backwards, stopping only when she hit the edge of an oversized sink. With little effort, he lifted until she was sitting on the edge, stepping in-between her legs, groaning when she wrapped her legs around him, locking her feet at her ankles. His hands moved under her shirt once more, his palms on her breasts over her satin bra._

_"__So perfect," he whispered, pulling away to rest his forehead against hers. "I love when you when you walk around the house without a bra on, little one. It's sweet torture, these perfect breasts bouncing with our every movement, begging for my touch. I want to lay you down and devour them. Would you let me do that? Would you let me make a meal of you, because I won't stop there. I'll lick and suck and bite your tits, but then I'll go down …" he dragged one hand down her leather-clad legs as he spoke._

_"__Sirius," she sighed. Gods, the man was a fucking poet. _

_His hand rested on the apex between her thighs, pressing the heel of his palm into her core slightly. "Do you like when a man licks you, Hermione?"_

_She whimpered._

_"__I know," he soothed, his hand rubbing her. Slowly. "When I get my chance to taste you, baby, I'm going to take my time. I'd start so soft, all you'd feel is my breath as I look at you, smell you, before I take a taste – just a little one. It would be so light, you wouldn't know if it happened or not. I'd do that for several minutes, teasing, tempting, before diving in to suck and bite." He kissed her fiercely, his tongue tangling with hers, pulling back quickly. "I'd fuck you with my tongue, Hermione; my fingers spreading you wide as I lap up your sweetness. Your legs will be curled around my head, my name a constant chant on your lips as you beg for release."_

_She grabbed his head, desperate to make him stop talking as one hand kneaded her breast and the other rubbed her pussy. Could he feel how wet he made her? Could he smell it? Her head was spinning. She couldn't handle his words. They were too much on top of his physical ministrations._

_"__Can you feel it building, Hermione?" he whispered, kissing her jaw, moving down to her neck, smirking when her head fell back. "That throbbing that feels so good? I'm going to make you scream, little one. This first time I make you come, you will scream. I know you're close. I can tell by the way you're breathing, those sweet little sounds you make; they go straight to my dick. Come on, baby. Let me know how much you want me. Show me. Show me what I do to you." He shifted his hand to her other breast, touching, kneading, while the hand between her leg kept rubbing, harder, harder. She was moving her hips, lifting to meet his touch. Her heels dug into his lower back, but he didn't care. He loved how her legs looked in these shoes. He promised himself he'd fuck her wearing nothing but these shoes. _

_"__Are you close?" he whispered, his own breaths coming out in pants as he pushed his cock into her, rubbing against her legs, his hand. "I know I am. Fuck, baby, you are going to make me come. Do you want that? Do you want me to come with you?"_

_"__Yes," she hissed. "Gods, please!"_

_It was like her words were the key as both man and woman felt the tension that had them on edge release at the same time, his name a scream from her lips, her name a grunt from his. He didn't stop his movements, neither hands nor hips, in the aftershocks, determined to ride out the pleasure – his, hers – as long as he could. "Fuck," he groaned, slowing his movements before stopping. He removed his hand from her legs, her breasts, pulling her to him in a hug, smiling when she mirrored the gesture. He rested his head against her chest, loving the feel of her fingers in his hair as he listened to her heartbeat slow to normal. He did that to her. _

_"__Sirius?"_

* * *

><p>"Sirius? Are you all right?"<p>

He heard Harry but he didn't see him, not at first, as he glanced around their table. She wasn't there. He wasn't surprised. He could pinpoint the moment she started building walls, the second he forced her to shift from the sweet woman who kissed him on the dance floor to the one who hit him with uncanny accuracy.

"Beer?" George asked, holding up a pitcher in question.

"Yeah," he replied, knowing there wasn't enough alcohol in the world to numb what he was feeling, but he was going to try.

* * *

><p><em>He kept his eyes closed, not wanting the moment to end. Because it would. It had to. She wasn't ready. He wasn't ready. He knew this was a mistake before he did it. He shouldn't have approached her on the dance floor. He shouldn't have kissed her. He shouldn't have touched her, but he couldn't resist, not when she looked at him like she wanted to consume him. That was all he wanted: to be consumed by Hermione Granger. <em>_He felt her shift, trying to get comfortable on her precarious perch. Sighing, he stepped back, letting her slide down until her feet touched the floor. He could see her better now. She looked extremely satisfied. He imagined he did, too. _

_"__Scourgify," she said quietly, erasing the proof of their frantic copulation. _

_"__Hermione."_

_"__Don't," her voice both fierce and pleading at the same time. "Please."_

_He swallowed, knowing what she wasn't saying, hating himself for not being able to listen. "I … I shouldn't have done that, Hermione. You deserve better than that."_

_"__Sirius –"_

_"__I mean it. You are a woman who deserves candles and flowers, silk sheets and slow explorations, not humping fully clothed in a janitor's closet in the middle of a nightclub."_

_She slapped him. He expected it this time. He was grateful that's all it was. He'd heard about the right hook that broke Malfoy's nose._

_"__I don't fucking believe you!" she hissed. "You are going to push me aside? Again?"_

_"__Hermione."_

_"__NO!" She fisted her hands and hit his chest. Once. Twice. He refused to move. "You don't get to say my name in that pathetic voice. You don't get to whisper seductively to me one minute and dismiss me the next. You don't get to apologize and walk away with a clear conscience. No more, Sirius Black!" She snapped her fingers, the lone lightbulb above their heads lighting up, showing them both clearly to the other. His face looked pained, guilty. Hers was red with anger as she glared at him._

_He swallowed his panic. His fear. This wasn't how he wanted to do this. If he fucked up now … "What do you want, Hermione?"_

_"__You, you jackass!" she brought her hands up to his chest and shoved, feeling better when he stumbled back a bit. "If telling you I love you hasn't made that abundantly clear, if practically fucking you right here doesn't show you how much I want you, I don't know what else will!" She pushed him again, his back hitting a shelf of cleaners, several bottles falling to the floor. "Is this a game to you? Do you enjoy seeing how much you can mess with my head? Are you really such a fucking coward that you feel the need to –"_

_He pounced, pushing her against the door, his hands clamped around her upper arms. "Enough," he growled. "I am trying to do the right thing."_

_"__And what is that exactly? Making a girl hate you so you can move on to the next conquest guilt-free?"_

_"__You are not a conquest!"_

_She scoffed._

_"__I mean it!" he grabbed her chin with one hand, forcing her to look at him. "You want to know what I want? I want you, Hermione. I want every single part of you. I want to fuck you, I want to worship you, and I want to love you. I want to hear you scream when you come around my cock and sigh when you fall asleep in my arms. I want to see you grow big with our child, hold your hand when your sad and chase away the demons that haunt you in your sleep."_

_Her eyes went soft. "Sirius."_

_"__Everything, Hermione. When it comes to you, I won't settle for anything less!" He pushed away, running his fingers through his hair as he tried to find the right words. "The shit I've gone through … I'm trying to figure it out –"_

_"__I know," she walked forward, cupping his face in her hands. "I want to help."_

_"__You can't," he said abruptly, moving her hands aside. "This has nothing to do with you."_

_"__So you can chase my demons but I can't help you with yours?"_

_"__Baby, you have no idea how fucked up I am," he scoffed. "If you did …"_

_She crossed her arms to keep herself from reaching out. "So what happens? You want me but you won't let yourself have me?"_

_"__Not now."_

_"__What?"_

_"__I'm not ready. You're not ready."_

_She couldn't believe what he was saying. "Excuse me? You're saying I'm not ready for someone like you? That I can't handle someone like you? When it comes to brooding wizards, I hit the motherlode with Harry!"_

_He smiled at that. "Hermione, you were forced to grow up too fast. These past few months are the first you've had to act like a teenager. Drinking with the girls, going to clubs, dating Zabini – these are things you need to do."_

_"__You want me to date other men? Am I supposed to sleep with them, too? Do you have a number in your head? One? Five? Ten?"_

_"__Stop it."_

_"You're __the one who claims to know what I need. Spell it out for me."_

_He strode forward, tangling his hands in her hair, tilting her head up to look at him. "I hate this, Hermione; I fucking hate it, but I won't let you have regrets. When I come after you, that's it. There will be no one else for you."_

_"__That's what I want," she whispered, hating how pathetic she must sound._

_"__You don't know that," he said quietly, his fingers slowly running through her hair. "Not until you've had a chance to live your life, you don't know that."_

* * *

><p>"What happened next?" Luna handed Hermione a mug of tea.<p>

"I left," she sipped the warm liquid. "I wasn't going to beg." _Again_.

"Do you think he's right?" Luna sat at the table, still only wearing Ron's shirt.

"I think he's fucking crazy," Hermione snarled, her temper taking over now that she was finished crying. "I think he's scared. I think he's making excuses. I think he doesn't want to hurt me, so he's doing everything he can to make me be the one to walk away and then he can be the one who's hurt."

"Which you did," she said quietly.

Hermione's head snapped up, but she couldn't say anything in her defense. Luna was right. She walked away. She left the janitor closet, stormed up the stairs to their table and grabbed her purse, telling the twins and Harry she'd give Ron a heads up, and was out of the club before Sirius could catch up to her.

"I don't know what I'm doing," she confessed.

"How do you feel?"

"I don't know! If you had asked me that three months ago, hell, three days ago, I'd tell you I love him."

"And now?" Luna prodded.

"I'm confused. I have this, had this, idea in my mind of what it would be like, my life with Sirius. Even when he left, I didn't panic. I knew he'd come back. I had hoped that when he did, he'd say he loved me in return, but when he didn't, I told myself I could wait. That I could so little things to show him I still care, that I'd be good for him, because there are moments, Luna, when we connect. They don't happen often, but when they do, it's like he's the only one that understands me and I'm the only one that understands him."

She reached over to place her hand on top of Hermione's. "But something changed?"

"Yes. No. I don't know …" she got up from the table and started pacing the twins' flat. "Do I love him, Luna? Honestly and truly love him, or do I just think I do? Am I too stubborn to admit that when I told him I loved him, it wasn't true?"

Ron took a seat at the table, pulling his chair close to Hermione so he could out his arm around her.

"Were you right, Ron?" Hermione looked at her friend with a pleading expression. "Am I confusing love with wanting to take care of someone?"

"I can't answer that, Hermione. You know that."

She leaned against the couch, exhausted, defeated.

"If you have those questions, Hermione, it's likely Sirius does, too."

Hermione looked at Luna. "What do you mean?"

"You said he's afraid. I believe he is. He isn't someone who's known a lot of love and, unfortunately, many of the people who have shown him affection either betrayed him or were killed. He doesn't trust easily. When you said you loved him, when he left, it was probably for self-preservation. He doesn't want to be hurt again."

"Then why would he tell me he wants me?"

"Because he does. By giving you time to live the life we missed out on, he's trying to build a safety net. If you get everything out now – the partying, sleeping with other men, sleeping with women –"

"Wait; what?" Ron interrupted.

"– then he'll know you mean it. If you do all that and he's still the man you want, _you'll know_ you mean it."

Ron looked at his girlfriend, still wanting to know more about the sleeping with women comment, but something she said struck a nerve besides that. "You know, he never got a chance to grow up, either."

"He's almost 39, Ronald."

"And he spent 12 years in prison. How old was he when he was thrown in Azkaban? How long did he have to hide after he escaped?"

Hermione considered Ron's words. He was right. Sirius had years to make up for, too. What did that mean? Did this have anything to do with the woman he was going to see Monday? Did he plan on sleeping with a lot of women? Was he going to be the one going out every night? Was she expected to sit back and do nothing?

_"… __I want to love you. I want to hear you scream when you come around my cock and sigh when you fall asleep in my arms. I want to see you grow big with our child, hold your hand when your sad and chase away the demons that haunt you in your sleep."_

"You are both extremely stubborn people," Luna got up and walked to George's room. "Maybe it's all the nargles you've encountered, but it's obvious neither one of you is going to back down, so I suggest you do what he says."

"Drink, party and shag anything that moves?" Hermione was incredulous.

"Why not?" Lunas asked. "If he's going to make you wait, you might as well have fun. Maybe once he sees how much fun you're having, he'll feel the need to stop it."

* * *

><p>Hermione left Fred and George's before they returned from the club. She had planned on accompanying Luna and Neville to Hogsmeade, but she didn't want to risk seeing Sirius again. She was still angry about what happened. Angry. Confused. Frustrated and, she would never admit this to anyone else, incredibly turned on. Her sex life wasn't extensive by any means, but the few times she's had sex, it was an pleasant experience, but only Sirius could give her an earth-shattering orgasm while she was still fully clothed.<p>

"Granger!"

She turned around, surprised when she saw Draco walking out of the building he and Blaise owned. "Working on a Saturday night?" she teased. "Won't that hurt your reputation."

"Laugh all you want, Granger, but it takes more than natural business sense to be successful."

"Your father's money?"

He glared at her. "And what are you doing wandering Diagon Alley alone at this time of night? Another SPEW mission? Maybe a hair emergency because that I would believe."

She shook her head, Draco's barbs doing more to cheer her up than Luna and Ron's sympathetic ears. "I'm feeling a bit claustrophobic and needed to get out," she admitted.

"If out is what you need, I've got just the thing," Draco replied, taking her arm and leading her around the corner from his building. "There," he said, pointing to the metal staircase along the side of the building that led to the roof. "We're considering some sort of rooftop experience. Come on up and tell us what you think."

She eyed the stairs. "Is it safe?"

"As safe as the stairs in that crumbling dwelling you call home," Draco countered as he started walking up the stairs. Clutching the metal bannister, Hermione followed suit, keeping her eyes ahead as she did so. Looking down would be a bad idea.

"I knew you had a thing for my arse," Draco smirked when he reached the top, holding a hand out to Hermione. "Best to keep that to yourself for now."

"Why –"

"Dolcezza!" she felt a pair of well-muscled arms encircle her just before Blaise pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "It's been too long since I last saw you. What do you think?"

Hermione looked around the roof. Several wrought iron tables with matching chairs scattered around the space. Two were pushed together in the middle, Adrian and Marcus sitting in the chairs with glasses of some sort of alcoholic beverage. Draco joined them, leaving Hermione and Blaise alone.

"Are you all right?" Blaise asked, truly looking at Hermione. He brushed his knuckles against her cheek. "You look like you've been crying."

Dammit. "I went out with Harry and Ron, remember? It's their last big night before they leave for the academy."

"Did you fight?"

She smiled, thinking of all the fights she'd had with her boys over the years. It used to be simple. "No, no fighting. Things got nostalgic."

"You emotional Gryffindors," Blaise's tone was indulgent as he rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry you will miss Potter and Weasley when they go, but I admit I look forward to the opportunity to spend more time with you."

Hermione studied Blaise, his brown eyes twinkling with something close to mischief as he leaned forward to press his lips against her, only deepening the kiss when she didn't pull away.

"Get a room, Granger!" Draco shouted.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: So many unhappy people with the last chapter. I expected that. Is his head in the right place? Is hers? I say yes and no for both. There's validity to his way of thinking, though the way he's handling it isn't the best. As for the shag everything that moves mentality, keep in mind _he_ never said that. She twisted his words. When she spoke to Luna and Ron, they assumed the sympathetic friend role we all have when dealing with an emotional pal fueled by anger and alcohol. Or maybe that's just my experience … :D**

**A few lines were added to the last chapter address the shift from Hermione's POV to Sirius' in the closet. It was deleted during the editing process. Augh! Read it if you want, but it doesn't really add anything to the chapter. It's a transition; no secrets revealed!**

**Thanks for reading. I know this story can be frustrating. That's why I started writing _No Longer Playing_! **

**Legalities: I do not own Harry Potter. These characters belong to J.K. Rowling and Scholastic, Inc. **

* * *

><p>It was still dark when Hermione walked through the front door at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, though the sun would be rising soon. She stepped out of the kitchen fireplace with her purse in one hand, heels in the other, in need of two things: a shower and her bed. Walking up the stairs to her room, she was unaware of the Animagus still awake, listening to her tiptoe to her bedroom. She pushed open the door, pleased the non-squeak charm she'd placed on it a few weeks ago was still holding, and entered her room with a sigh.<p>

"Where the hell were you?"

She jumped, her back hitting her door, the force slamming it closed.

So much for being quiet.

"Harry?"

The lights turned on, revealing an annoyed Boy Who Lived sitting in the middle of her bed. "Do you know what time it is? It's almost 5 a.m. You said you were going to give Ron and Luna a heads up. When I got there, they said you took off!"

"I left you a message," she muttered, dropping her heels so she could rub her lower back.

"'I'm fine' is not a message, Hermione."

"I needed some time," she walked to her dresser and pulled out a pair of rainbow-striped cotton sleep pants and a blue T-shirt.

"Why? This was our last night."

"You let Ron leave!"

He rolled his eyes. "That was for the benefit of everyone else present."

Remembering her conversation with Luna, and a certain piece of information the Ravenclaw spilled, Hermione smirked.

"Where were you?" Harry repeated.

"I ran into Blaise when I left the twins' flat," she admitted.

"Did you sleep with him?"

"Harry!"

"What? No bar stays open this late and you look extremely guilty."

She glared at him. "You didn't used to be this nosy."

"And I've never stayed up all night worried about you," he pointed out. He was grateful she was home, but still angry at what she put him through. "There's a first time for everything."

Truer words had never been spoken and yet Hermione knew she wasn't someone who could change her way of thinking, her way of doing things, simply because she was mad. Angry. Hurt. "Nothing happened with Blaise," she said in a quiet voice.

Harry's shift from anger to sympathetic was immediate. "Do you want to talk?"

"Not really; no. I want to shower and I want to sleep."

"Do you want me to stay?"

"Yes, please."

"All right," he shifted on the bed, making a production of slipping under the covers as if she was putting him out though they both knew he'd stay even if she hadn't asked him to. "But I'm sleeping on my side of the bed."

"That's my side!" she protested.

"It's payback for making me worry," he told her.

* * *

><p>She considered having sex with Blaise. As the warm water rushed over Hermione, she recalled how there was a moment, an instant, when she contemplated what sleeping with Blaise would be like. He was attracted to her; she was attracted to him. They were of age and neither of them had attachments to another, but as they separated after Draco's comment, the dark-skinned Slytherin glaring at the blond as he led Hermione to the others, she realized she couldn't do it. Not when she was mad. Not when it would be to get back at another. Not when it would hurt someone else. She couldn't have casual sex and not let it mean anything. Part of her wanted to, if only to make a certain wizard regret pushing her away, but she'd be using Blaise and as angry as she was, she couldn't justify that, either.<p>

_"It's him, isn't it?"_

_Hermione looked up from the glass of water she held in her hands, having waved away the offers of wine and firewhiskey. She had no idea how long she'd sat there, listening to the four Slytherins converse as she stared at nothing, the events of the night playing on repeat in her mind. "What's him?"_

_"Sirius Black," Blaise said casually, leaning back in his chair. There were the only two left on the roof, the others having left earlier. _

_She didn't bother to deny it. What would it change? She'd already admitted to him she had feelings for another man. The fact that he knew who it was ... "Is it that obvious?"_

_He shook his head at her question. "Everything you feel shows on your face, Hermione."_

_She latched on to her name coming from his lips. He rarely called her Hermione, instead relying on Italian pet names that rolled smoothly off of his tongue. "I'm sorry."_

_"You have nothing to apologize for."_

_"I feel like I do."_

_He shrugged his shoulders, a movement she's seen Harry and Ron do a million times before, and yet he managed to make it look nearly graceful. "I had no delusions of the two of us ending up happily ever after."_

_"Not one?" she teased._

_"Well," he hedged, "the thought may have crossed my mind when I first saw you in that black dress. You have amazing legs, Hermione. You shouldn't hide them so much, though I appreciate tonight's ensemble considerably."_

_She laughed, his words both flattering and amusing at the same time. "I'm going to miss this," she admitted._

_"Am I going somewhere?" he asked._

_"Isn't this our good-bye?"_

_Blaise smiled slightly. "I think there needs to be more than a few dates and one memorable snogging session to constitute a good-bye. Now, if you would like to remedy that …"_

_She leaned over to smack him lightly in his shoulder, unsurprised when he caught her hand in his and kissed each one of her fingers. "I don't think I could handle you, Blaise Zabini."_

_"Probably not," he murmured, "but it would have been fun to see you try."_

_They sat in compatible silence for several minutes, her hand in his. She wasn't being nice when she said she'd miss him. She would and not because of how he made her feel, but what it felt like to be with him and his friends. Her core group was splintered, everyone going their separate ways as they pursued careers, academics. She only realized it that night, sitting at the table with Harry, that he'd be leaving soon. What was she supposed to do without him? Without Ron?_

_"What are you going to do now?"_

_"Well, I take my N.E.W.T.s in January and there's the fundraiser –"_

_"No," Blaise interrupted. "I meant what are you going to do about Black?"_

_She snorted. "Nothing. He has this idea that I'm not ready for him, that I need to cram my life with debauchery to prove I know my own feelings."_

_"I fail to see the downside," he smirked at her withering look. "Still, I think you're going about this the wrong way. This is not the time to be a Gryffindor."_

_"And a Slytherin would do it different?"_

_He answered as if to think otherwise was foolish. "Of course. You need to find a way to chase him but make him believe he's chasing you. Don't stop until he catches you."_

Chase him until he caught her. Hermione toweled off, still not sure what Blaise meant by that. She pulled on her pajamas and left the bathroom, smiling at the sight of Harry sprawled in her bed. Deciding she'd spent enough time thinking about Sirius Black for one night, she climbed underneath the overs, scooting over until she could rest her head on Harry's chest.

"Night Hermione," he murmured sleepily.

"Good night, Harry."

* * *

><p>"Ginny has a Quidditch game Saturday, Granger."<p>

She looked up from the napkins she was folding at the Weasley kitchen table to see Fred looking at her expectantly. "Um … I'll owl her to say good luck?"

"No, you will be attending the game with George and me."

"What? Why?" She was whining. She'd admit it. She didn't like Quidditch. Yes, she attended games when she was a student at Hogwarts, but that was because it was expected. She was no longer a student, therefore Quidditch no longer had a place in her life.

He leaned over, hands planted on the table as he answered her in a serious tone she never heard the redhead use before. "Don't you remember what I said? We will be at every Hogwarts Quidditch game to make sure Ginny does not cheer for the snakes."

"She's playing, Fred! How can she compete and cheer for the opposing side at the same time?"

"You better hope she hasn't found a way."

Hermione rolled her eyes and refocused on her task, adding Fred's name to the list of men in her life driving her crazy. It started when Harry jumped out of bed just before 11 a.m., panicked that he hadn't finished packing, or even started. Pointing out that he was a wizard was deemed not helpful, which is why she found herself sorting through his clothes for nearly an hour before Tonks stopped by to remind him that the academy would provide uniforms.

_"Are you kidding?" Hermione screeched._

_Harry looked sheepish. "Sorry, Hermione. I guess I'm more nervous than I realized."_

_Tonks, knowing the warning signs of Hermione's temper, made a quick exit, but not before reminding the two that they were expected at the Weasley's for a family lunch in an hour. Harry was convinced Hermione's respect for Molly was the only thing that saved him._

"Hermione."

She looked up from the napkins once more. "Bill," she smiled. "I didn't know you'd be here."

"And miss Mum's spread before she sends two more of her children into the world? You know she always feeds us as if the food supply will disappear the moment we leave the Burrow."

"That explains so much about Ron's eating habits," she murmured, moving the pile of napkins to the corner of the table. Molly hastily refused her offer to help with the meal, giving her menial tasks the Weasley matriarch could accomplish with magic in seconds, but she knew Hermione liked to help.

Bill looked around the room, noting his parents were still outside, before sliding on the bench across from Hermione. "Did you know I own a flat in Diagon Alley?"

This was news to her. "You and Fleur have Shell Cottage. Why would you own a flat, too?"

"I purchased it before I inherited the cottage."

"Why?" she repeated.

Bill waved his hand at the chaos that was the Burrow: Molly outside yelling at Arthur about chairs while an explosion echoed in one of the bedrooms over their heads. Ron and Harry were playing a pickup game of Quidditch with Sirius and Charlie, while Fleur was flipping through the latest issue of _Witch Weekly_ with Tonks, their blond and blue heads close together as they giggled over a particular page. Remus was nowhere to be found, though it was likely he sought a quiet spot in the orchard to bring his werewolf tendencies in check.

"I love my family, but after graduating Hogwarts and going to work for Gringotts, I realized how loud they can be" Bill told her. "I bought the flat after a particularly noisy Christmas. It was my sanctuary."

"And now?"

"I love my wife," Bill smiled thinking of the pretty blond he married the year before. "I love my mum. The less time those two spend together, the better."

"For you?" she joked.

"For everyone," he replied seriously.

"Why are you telling me this?" Hermione asked.

"Ron mentioned you might need your own place," Bill replied, holding a hand up when she opened her mouth. "He didn't give me details and I don't need them." Taking a piece of parchment out of his shirt pocket, he slid it across the table. "Here's the address. I've altered the wards to allow your entrance; change them however you see fit. It's yours as long as you need it."

Hermione looked at the paper, speechless. She had wondered what life would be like at Grimmauld Place without Harry, especially now that things between her and Sirius were so volatile. "Thank you," she told Bill, leaning over to hug him. "I don't know what to say."

"Just be happy, Hermione. You deserve it."

* * *

><p>"Do you want to tell me why Hermione runs the other way every time she sees you?"<p>

Sirius looked over at Remus, wondering how he waited as long as he did before asking the obvious. Lunch at the Weasleys wasn't as awkward as he feared, the extra-long picnic table making it difficult for the two to see each other when they took seats on opposite sides on the same bench, but as the afternoon wore on and people broke into small groups, he found himself crossing her path more than once, the curly-haired witch veering in another direction each time he crossed her line of vision.

"I fucked up last night."

"So I assumed," Remus said dryly. "Do I want to hear what happened?"

"I don't come off well in the retelling."

"Note my shock."

Sirius glared at the werewolf, "You know, some friends are supportive of their mates when they're suffering."

"Some friends aren't complete dicks," Remus shot back. "I know you have some altruistic reason for keeping your plans a secret, but when it starts hurting those you claim to care about –"

"I told her, all right?" he shouted. "I told her I was fucked up, that I needed time to get my head figured out before I tried to be the man she deserves."

"What did she say?"

"She wants to help."

Remus wasn't surprised. Hermione was a natural caregiver. "And yet she's actively avoiding you."

Sirius closed his eyes and leaned back on the couch, feeling unbelievably tired. "I told her I needed to do this on my own, that she needed to focus on having fun so that when I came after her, there'd be no regrets."

"What was Hermione's reaction?"

"She slapped me."

Remus shook his head. "You handled that well."

"Sod off, Moony."

* * *

><p>She didn't go with Harry, Remus and Sirius to the train station. She said good bye to Ron the day before, thanking him for Bill's flat as she hugged him, letting go only when the redhead claimed he couldn't breathe. Her farewell with Harry was just as emotional, the two clinging to each other because letting go meant it was really happening. They were separating. Things were changing.<p>

"You'll owl?"

"I always do," she replied. "You two are the ones who never write back."

"We'll try harder," he promised.

"No, you won't, but I'll write anyway."

"You'll be OK?" he asked, green eyes assessing as he squeezed her hands in his. "With everything?"

She knew what he wasn't saying. Would she be able to sleep? Would she find a way to get through the night without him? "I'll be fine," she lied, pulling him close for one last hug when they heard Sirius shout his name from downstairs.

She was glad Harry didn't push when she said she wouldn't go to the train station with him. She knew he was aware of something happening between her and Sirius, but chose ignorance over the thought of his best friend and godfather exploring something more than casual acquaintances.

Taking her beaded bag out of the bottom drawer of her dresser, Hermione started filling it with the things she wanted to take to Bill's flat. Packing while the house was empty, leaving without talking to anyone was immature. Hermione knew that and yet it was the only scenario she felt comfortable with at this time. She didn't want to have a heart-to-heart with Tonks or see Remus look at her with sympathy. She didn't want Sirius to give another "I'm doing this for your own good" speech, either. What she wanted to do was get settled in her new space, study for her N.E.W.T.s, host a successful fundraiser, and then figure out what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. Was that so much to ask?

"Come on Crooks," Hermione coaxed, holding open the door to his cat carrier, the half-Kneazle looking at her as if she was crazy. "Please, darling? I'll give you a treat when we get there; I promise."

He sniffed, but did as she asked, not even bothering to show his despair as he settled in the confined space.

Hermione slung her purse and book bag over her shoulder. Picking up Crookshank's carrier, she left the note she addressed to Tonks in the middle of her bed and walked to the kitchen fireplace, tossing a handful of floor powder into the dark space.

"93 Diagon Alley!"

* * *

><p>"You are an idiot," Tonks greeted Sirius when he entered the kitchen that night, the makings of a tension headache at the base of his skull.<p>

"I love you, too, cousin," he grumbled, opening the cupboard where they stored the potions. "Do we have any pain blocker?"

"Top shelf," she grumbled, still annoyed at the note she found in Hermione's room that afternoon. She liked Hermione. She didn't want her to leave. She also loved her cousin and knew the news would hurt him. Gods, who would have thought that hers and Remus' relationship would be easy compared to these two?

He found the vial and downed the liquid quickly, the bitter taste washing away what hours of conversation in a stuffy conference room caused. Why did lawmakers feel the need to talk everything to death? They'd met to discuss the sequence of the issues the Wizengamot would hear during its open session in November. He was fairly certain debating the order took more time than the voting for or against the proposed laws would.

"Here," she pushed over a glass of water, which he swallowed gratefully, slouching into a chair with a weary side.

"I'm ready," he told her, eyes closed as he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Why am I an idiot?"

Tonks didn't reply, just handed him a folded piece of parchment.

_Dear Tonks,_

_I decided to take temporary residence at another dwelling. Between revising and my work for the Ministry, I feel it's best to be on my own for the time being. Please don't tell Harry. He doesn't need to worry._

_I'm an owl away,_

_Hermione_

"Shit."

"I assume you said something just as eloquent to her."

If he didn't feel as if his heart was being squeezed by someone with extremely large and cold hands, he'd appreciate the similarities between Tonks' and Remus' delivery. Both made sarcasm an art.

"What happened?" she asked, softer this time.

He sighed. "I really don't feel like talking about it."

She loved when the men in her life believed she would heed their wishes. It was so cute. "Does it have anything to do with that piece of parchment you carry around like a security blanket?"

He looked up, surprised.

"Oh, didn't you know?" she smiled sweetly and batted her eyelashes. "I'm an auror. It's kind of my thing to notice the little details."

Despite the circumstances, he grinned. "You and Remus really are perfect for each other."

"I always thought so, though it took longer for him to come around. He had this silly idea that pushing me away was for my own good, that not being with the man I loved would make me happy on the long wrong."

"Tonks …"

"You don't need to be perfect to be with the person who makes you happy," she told him, her eyes shifting to a hazel that was eerily similar to Hermione's coloring. "Merlin, Sirius, if I had waited for Remus to get his head together, I'd still be waiting for our first kiss! I know you have this tendency to build walls. Given your parents, why wouldn't you? But they're gone, Sirius. They're gone and you're here. I'm here. Remus is here. Harry. Hermione. You aren't alone. You don't have to do whatever it is you're doing alone."

He knew she spoke the truth and he appreciated it, but he spent most of his life being saved, first by James, then by the Potters. He used his anger, his hurt, as a shield, as an excuse. He wasn't being stubborn, at least not as stubborn as everyone accused him of being. He wasn't refusing assistance to be obstinate. He did it to prove something to his worst critic: himself. "You'll keep an eye on her?"

Tonks didn't ask him to clarify. "I'll arrange weekly lunches."

"Thanks, cousin," he replied, getting up and walking out the backdoor. Sitting on the porch steps, he took out his list.

**Reach out to Narcissa**

**Talk to Harry about James**

**Thank Arthur and Molly**

**Do something for Hogwarts**

**Forgive Regulus**

**Live clean**

_10 more weeks._

* * *

><p>Hermione flooed to the twins' flat, leaving the note she wrote to them explaining her change of residence on their kitchen counter, propped against a container of bruise paste. They spent Mondays working in their lab. She knew they'd need the paste that night.<p>

Walking downstairs, she waved to Verity, ignoring the odd look she received when Crookshanks chose that moment to let loose with a mournful howl, and let herself out the front door, and turned left towards Bill's flat.


End file.
